


Brave New Update

by Erika_Rex



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artificial Intelligence, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Character Development, Character Study, Digital reality - AU, Friendship, Gen, Humor, In-game references, M/M, References to Depression, Sentience, Virtual World - AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-07-15 07:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16058276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erika_Rex/pseuds/Erika_Rex
Summary: Up to now, the digital mercs had only been sentient puppets of a virtual world inside an online videogame. Fighting cybernetic battles for the players that controlled them was their life until the new update granted them what they fiercely wished for: Freedom.But as they will quickly learn soon, freedom is never free.





	1. Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't have started writing this yet but here I am, publishing the first chapter of this Herculean project still without a beta reader.
> 
> Brave New Update is meant to be a separate and self-explanatory story, so you don't need to read the previous pieces of the Collection - Team Fortress Sentience to follow the events of this one. However, in my opinion, they are worth reading.
> 
> Also, just for the record, you will find that some of the characters of this story are no longer the canonical mercs. Some have evolved more than others but I promise that all of them have their own backstory that justifies their behavior. So if you want a long frenetic ride, please give them a chance.
> 
> Without any more delay, enjoy the first chapter.

_“But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”_

_―_ Aldous Huxley, Brave New World.

It was a peaceful virtual day in Teufort.

Except it was actually dark and it wasn't peaceful at all, because the map was Teufort Invasion and although everything in this world was made by zeros and ones, war was still war.

The server was emptier than usual and quiet as many other European servers were. Most of the players had decided to randomly wander around, instead of focusing on capturing the enemy intelligence, so the match hadn't progressed much. Both teams had been behaving so idly that after almost two hours, the scoreboard was still 1-0, on BLU's favor, and there was the silent but general agreement that it should be kept like that for eternity.

Unfortunately or not, eternity was going to come faster than anyone wished for because an update was programmed to be executed in less than 2 minutes and in that precise moment, Valve servers were going to be reset therefore, forcing a sudden end to the match.

Most of the digital mercenaries had already resigned to that faith and one of them was the RED Sniper. However, that didn't mean that he had to quit his duel against his BLU doppelganger. The sharpshooter had to admit that both players were pretty average but he was still enjoying this mediocre competition.

Both snipers were at the balcony of their corresponding bases and were shooting each other almost exclusively. Watched from an external point of view it looked rather fruitless but it was entertaining enough for the four of them, the players and the snipers, specially for the snipers. Both mercenaries were taking the duel with a good mood, congratulating the other man across the map after respawning from a particular skillful kill or teasing each other in the meantime. It was relaxing and it helped create a nice working atmosphere until all of them were meant to be sent into the darkness again.

In the current moment, the RED Sniper was waiting for his rival to respawn. His player had recently adopted the strategy of moving him around the open area so every time his enemy poked his head over the protective metal plates, he would find him in a different position, generating a half second of advantage that they were using to shoot first. It was a simple but visibly effective tactic.

If Sniper wasn't mistaken, the next kill would give them a domination. Not that it would make a difference or matter at all but he wanted that domination nonetheless. Even if it became his octave bodyshot in a row.

 _"Nothin' to be ashamed of. 'Cause at the end of the day, bodyshots are still kills."_ He remembered with a fond smile.

He was so concentrated switching his scope from one side of the balcony to the other that he let out a silent cry when a message popped on in his visual field. It was basically to remind the players that due to the incoming update, the connection was going to be interrupted in about 30 seconds.

At the same time that Sniper was giving a quick read at the notification, he faintly heard his rival shout from behind cover:

"One more kill and ya'll dominate me, mate."

"Oi know and Oi'm waitin' for ya! Show me yer soon ta be dead body." He replied with a chuckle that he tried his best to make it resonate across the bridge.

"Oh, bugger ya! Ya'll never get it!" The other man exclaimed with a friendly attitude.

The RED Sniper smirked when he was moved to another side of the balcony and scoped again. The countdown from 10 seconds had already started and he was very determined to get that last successful shot. For some reason, he wanted it so badly.

He knew that craving feeling was childish. After this match was over, he wouldn't see again the other Sniper and even if he did, he wouldn't recognized him with a different loadout. Moreover, he wasn't actually the one who was aiming, his player was.

This Sniper, as any other mercenary in the server, was a sentient puppet of a virtual world inside an online videogame. Therefore, it was a mystery why he felt so immersed in this stupid competition. Maybe it was because he had been the one to start it, maybe because it was one of the few acts of free will he could exercise.

Dominating that anonymous polite rival was his today's whim.

The countdown was almost reaching its end when the other mercenary appeared just at the center of his scope. The RED Sniper's lips quirked up and he caressed the trigger of his rifle ready to take that beautiful headshot.

He could almost hear the sound of his weapon and its recoil against his shoulder when something unexpected happened. Another message startled him and almost at the same time, a strange invisible wave washed his body from head to toe. For a couple a seconds, Sniper awaited the shot that never came until, annoyed with his user, he decided to check out the notification.

It said that the servers had been finally shut down and it asked the players to disconnect from the game.

Sniper frowned at that new information.

If that was true, why he and the others were still here? He could still see the other Sniper at the end of his scope and hear a minigun spinning downstairs.

That announcement had to be a mistake, the darkness would have claimed them by now if the match  was really over.

It was then, while trying to process what was going on, that Sniper felt Sir Hootsalot moving an inch to the left of his shoulder.

_"Wait, wot?"_

With eyes wide and without lowering his rifle, he partially turned his head to his animal companion just to find a living, breathing owl with his head under his wing, cleaning his feathers. The sharpshooter blinked completely stunned at that scene. Sir Hootsalot like any other cosmetic animal of the game was supposed to be a stuffed dead creature. It was supposed to be permanently stuck to his shoulder, immobile. It wasn't supposed to do bird-like things like a real owl did.

It wasn't supposed to be alive.

"It's-it's alive..." A shivery voice, astonished as Sniper felt in that moment, whispered behind him.

An instinct that the Australian didn't remember having instantly kicked in and without consciously processing it, Sniper dematerialized his rifled and threw himself to the ground summoning his kukri. If it hadn't been for his Scoped Spartan, that fabulous mud-stained cape, he would have expertly rolled to the side and stood up in a threatening pose. What it actually happened was that he stumbled and pathetically landed on the wooden floor with his melee weapon almost out of his grasp, his sunglasses crooked, one of his legs wrapped around the piece of clothing and his hat on his shoulder.

He groaned from the pain and went to rub his head with his free hand when he stopped dead on his tracks and acknowledged his current position.

He was laying on the floor. HE WAS LAYING ON THE FLOOR!

He had never laid on the floor. He had ran, crouched, sat down or bumped into walls but the only moment when the game allowed him to lay on the floor like that, was when he was dead and he was very sure he wasn't dead.

"You moved. You... moved..." The voice spoke again with an irregular accent.

Completely befuddled, Sniper raised his gaze to meet a frozen BLU Spy standing with his arm raised and a Kunai ready to backstab an imaginary adversary. Sir Hootsalot was resting at the glassless window, in front of Frenchman, looking defiant at the rogue and outwardly annoyed for startling his owner.

"Oi moved..." The Australian muttered processing for the first time that he had instinctively commanded his body to jump to the side and against all programming, it had fully obeyed him.

Sir Hootsalot hooted almost sarcastically at the exchange of words. Apparently, the white owl was the only one in the room that was acting nonchalantly at the situation.

Both mercenaries stared at each other completely bewildered for a long couple of seconds until the Spy broke eye contact and took a look at his raised hand. With a perplexed facial expression that didn't belong to a suave man like him, the Frenchman opened his fist and dropped the knife.

The two of them watched the weapon fall down in an impossible low motion and clatter against the floor.

A subtle smile made his way to the Spy's lips.

With a contained excitement, the Frenchman slipped a finger under his right glove and his smile grew bigger. Still not believing what was happening, he got rid of his gloves with two swift moves, sending them carelessly next to his knife.

Following next, the Spy proceeded to examine his slightly trembling hands and Sniper could only but to remain immobile, admiring the scene that it was unfolding in front of him. He had never seen a Spy without gloves, not in the game, not in his implanted memories. For some stupid reason, some subconscious part of him had assumed that there was nothing under those leather accessories, that spies were born with gloves as part of their skin.

In contrast to his surreal misconception, this new reality was proving him wrong because the Spy had two very real and pale hands. Skinny and apparently fragile with long fingers that ended in almost feminine nails but surgeon-precise and very deadly as he had experienced in past battles.

Sniper would have gasped if he hadn't been paralyzed by the shock.

Once satisfied with what he was looking at, the Frenchman let out a shaky chuckled and without any consideration, he threw his Fancy Fedora against the wall and introduced his thumbs under the neck end of his balaclava.

This time though, Sniper could appreciate the hesitation in the Spy. The BLU took a deep breath and with a spark of dauntingness in his eyes, he did something that the Australian would have never conceived from the paranoid and secretive man.

He pulled out his mask.

Against all the crazy theories or unfounded rumors, the Spy wasn't bald or had reptile scales for hair. He didn't have demoniac hidden horns or a giant facial tattoo. He didn't have blue skin and neither was he a disturbing living skull.

In fact, he looked almost exactly as those unmasked Spy models that could be found through Google with the streaking difference that his hair wasn't raven black. It was closer to a much darker shade of Scout's brown hair.

Somehow, it felt completely appropriate and even more Mediterranean.

At that apocryphal scene, Sniper began considering if that bang against the ground could have corrupted his code in some way to produce this type of hallucination, because anything of what was happening, couldn't be happening for real.

In the meantime, the Frenchman played with this balaclava for a couple of seconds, rubbing his thumbs against the piece of clothing, almost as making sure that it was between his hands and not covering his head like it always did. After that, he let the mask slip through his fingers to the floor and softly cupped his cheeks. He chuckled silently and with a tiny bit of a long-hidden sorrow on his expression, he traced his fingers up to his hair which he started massaging it slowly, afraid that he might rip it off if he rushed too much. However, as he realized that his hair was stuck on his skull for good, the Spy increased the speed of his hands to the point that it could only be described as a frenetic disheveling.

And he maniacally laughed at doing so.

At first, it was a shocked huffed chuckling that turned into a hiccupped snorting and finally evolved into an boastful ecstatic laugh.

It was creepy, bizarre and heartbreaking at the same time. To be honest, it had more of "creepy" than the two other adjectives.

Without taking his eyes from the BLU, Sniper freed his leg and awkwardly maneuvered with his cape to sit down, not releasing his kukri. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and put his hat back where it belong, then decided against his first action and folded his aviators, placing them in one of his vest's pockets. He blinked a couple of times after that. It was odd to appreciate the world without that distinct yellow shade.

Laying on the floor had been a new experience for him but it wasn’t a comfortable pose to stay for a long period of time and with that Frenchman seemingly out of his mind just two steps from him, he didn't feel as the most appropriate to just lay forever in such a vulnerable position.

At the Australian’s movement, the Spy remembered that he wasn’t alone and partially regained his composure, painfully removing his fingers from his messed hair.

“Apologies, bushman. You don’t know how much I’ve fantasized with the simple thought of brushin' my hair with my bare fingers. Or touchin' anythin' with my bare hands, ta be completely frank.” The Frenchman explained with a gleeful grin, at the same time that he loosened his tie, removed it and proceeded to take off his dashing Assassin's Attire's jacket.

Sniper frowned at the man, not because of his confession or the apparent striptease that the other seemed so keen to perform but due to his unusual accent. Now that the Spy had elaborated a complete sentence and both of them were recovering from the initial shock, the RED realized that the digital man in front of him didn’t have that common French accent that all spies possessed and neither was a softer version of it, that one the sharpshooter had heard once from an old talkative Spy.

This accent was extremely familiar to the Australian and at the same time, it didn’t suit at all the rogue's sensual voice and his recently discovered face.

Concentrated on his war against clothes and oblivious to Sniper's new quandary, the Frenchman didn't give a sign of noticing or caring about his deviant accent because with the lack of dexterity only attributable to someone who had never stood in one single leg before, the Spy managed to get rid of his shoes and socks with a false collected control. He made one of his cheerful chuckles and after rubbing his feet against the rough floor and kinkily enjoying it, he took a confident step forward the sharpshooter, his former enemy, and offered him his ungloved hand.

" _Dépêche-toi_ , let's go ta enjoy our freedom, _mon ami._ "

At that precise instant and thanks to the contrast of the secret agent's impeccable pronunciation of French, realization hit Sniper.

At last, he successfully indentified what was so wrong with the other's English.

The Spy had an oddly natural standard Australian accent.

...

_"Wait, wot?"_


	2. From France to Australia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny when you plan the second chapter in your head but it ends up so long that you have to divided in 3 chapters.

_“I am I, and I wish I weren't.”_

― Aldous Huxley, Brave New World.

The Spy had an oddly natural standard Australian accent and it wasn't a parody of Sniper's one. It wasn't an imitation of his thick rural pronunciation. It sounded more like a perfect neutral accent, that type that could have belong to a news reader from a national TV channel.

Was this real?

Was, against what the code stipulated, a Spy standing just in front of him with a genuine Australian accent?

...

Spy.

Australian.

Accent.

...

Sniper blinked completely stunned, trying to associate those simple three words together inside his mind and as a result, he triggered an overload of his mental processing capacity.

This new fact about the Frenchman was even more disconcerting than discovering how his face looked like for the first time. Crikey, blimey! He had seen his face! And his hands! And his feet! Moreover, Sir Hootsalot was now a real owl too! And how to forget that both of them had moved freely!

Wait! And what had happened to his beloved rifle? Where had he sent it?

...

_"Oi think Oi forgot to breath in the last 30 seconds."_

Sniper spasmodically breath a single time and after that, he went back into statue mode again.

His thoughts began racing like if they had never stopped.

Why this BLU Spy was doing this to him!? How could the rogue throw so many social bombs one after the other and expect from him to react with total normalcy?!

"Ey!" The Frenchman snapped his nude fingers, went completely blank for a second, looked at his hand, snapped his fingers again, softly chuckled and miraculously remembered what was the intention of that action in the first place. It was supposed to help get the RED out of his trance, not get himself in one for his own. "You wouldn't have forgotten how ta grab a hand, would ya?"

Sniper could do that, couldn't he? He could focus on that elementary gesture and ignore everything else for the moment. He could ignore the other's Australian accent and his maskless face.

With the conviction that he should had employed to fight his mental confusion, Sniper firmly clutched the offered hand and a fraction of a second later, new insecurities merciless assaulted him. He was accepting an enemy Spy's gloveless hand for no reason! Why? He could stand up by himself!

However, before he could change his mind, the BLU already secured their grasp and pulled the sharpshooter up with visibly more force that it was necessary.

Therefore, they crashed into each other.

Sniper reeled backwards trying to regain his balance and, with his hat partially covering his vision again because of the collision, he almost stabbed the Frenchman with his kukri as a reflex when the man set a hand over his shoulder to help him stabilize.

"There you go!" The Spy released their handshake and patted the Australian's chest in a patronizing manner. "Do you remember how ta walk or shall I teach you an introductory lesson?"

 _"Maybe Oi should have accidentally stabbed him."_ Sniper bitterly thought at the other's visible mockery while he was fixing his fedora for the second time. It was so annoying now that it no longer remained perfectly stuck to his head.

Once he put it back to his rightful place, he found himself face to face with the rogue, who was fixing his previous messed hair with the use of some very familiar aviators as a mirror.

It took Sniper a second to recognize that they were HIS aviators. The Spy had used the crash as a distraction to steal them.

 _"Oi should have friggin' stabbed this snake."_ He threw him a piercing glare that undeniably spoke up his indignation.

On the other hand, an amused smile was drawn in Spy's lips at spotting from the corner of his eyes the Sniper's pissed expression. At last, he had realized the true reason of why the Frenchman had helped him get up to his feet.

"Give me my sunnies back, ya bloody Spook!" The Australian managed to spat back, anger masking his self-annoyance for letting himself be tricked so easily. The phony scoundrel could have politely asked for them! But no! He had to show off how he had successfully pickpocketed him!

"Fair go, bushman." Spy nonchalantly dismissed him without entering into his provocation. His lopsided smile still lingering from his lips. "Let us both enjoy my handsome face for a little longer. I hardly remembered how I looked like." He openly admitted like it wasn't a big deal.

Why Spy was spilling one personal confession after the other was a mystery even for the Frenchman too. Maybe he was so thrilled with their recently gained freedom of movement that he didn't care anymore about upholding his aloof reputation. Maybe his implanted memories were making him experience this bickering as a more friendly conversation than it should have been. After all, neither of them were the canon mercenaries from the comics and the videos. Regardless of this Sniper's age, they both had diverged, even if was only in the slightest, from the standard personality they were created with.

Deep down, Spy knew they were total strangers to each other despite not wanting to act like that. He had to admit that there wasn't any logical reason for that behavior. Maybe, just maybe he was repressing this knowledge from his actions because having the chance to enjoy a friendship for the first time in his virtual life was unusually alluring.

However, one thing was sure. This Frenchman planned to enjoy their temporal freedom as much as possible without taking into consideration what the others might think about him. Right now, he was fighting back his personal demons, in particular that strident paranoid part of his mind that was pleading for his complete uniform back but he wasn't going to relinquish. He wasn't the canon Spy anymore and given this holy chance, he wanted to defy his programming and just be himself, whoever he really was, and not what the code wanted him to be.

"Sure." Sniper sarcastically replied. "And while ya're on it, ya can also try ta remember where did ya leave yer French accent. Ya sound like a bloody weatherman from an Aussie radio channel."

At the remark, Spy froze like a deer in headlights.

Maybe he shouldn't be totally himself.

_"Merde, merde, merde!"_

How had he forgotten about that!? How he had forgotten what those Bruce gamers had done to him!? How had he kept speaking without being aware of his bloody accent!?

 _Putain_ , he was even thinking in Aussie! This was worse than he previously assessed.

_"Switch to French now! Tout de suite!"_

Nobody could know! This wasn't a Spy's canon secret! This was HIS embarrassing secret and he had no idea of how to deal with it!

Spy froze like a deer in headlights and for a fraction of a second, Sniper saw the man's jaw clenching and his eyebrows going slightly upwards on the depiction of a strongly restrained panic attack face. If the BLU hadn't been maskless, he would have probably missed his reaction as faint and instantaneous as it had been. Well, if that had been a real reaction at all and not a product of his own imagination because before he could blink, the Frenchman started guffawing in an exaggerated and contemptuous manner.

As the scorn laughter went on, Sniper switched from his previous indignation to confusion and after, to proper anger. This backstabbing fraud was laughing at him!

"What's so funny with ya, filthy Spook?" He asked with his kukri ready to impale it through the other's ribcage if he didn't like the answer.

"You-you..." The BLU finally controlled his boisterous snorting and after cleaning a fake tear, he replied to him with his apparently recovered French accent. " _Oh mon dieu..._ We will 'ave to find you a medkit, bushman. Zhat bang against zhe floor made you more moronic zhan I thought possible if you really 'allucinated zhat I was talking with your accent."

After that response, Sniper stared at the Frenchman in deep thought with his eyebrows furrowed. Why did his French accent suddenly feel so forced? It sounded exactly the same as how a Spy should sound like and regardless of that, there was a ticklish sensation on a deeper level of his consciousness that was warning him not to trust this display. There was something very wrong with this Spy's English and the sharpshooter wasn't planning to fall for his tricks. At least, not again.

Sniper was going to spat another irascible comment when he heard the sound of two rockets being launched and a very characteristic war cry coming from outside the window, over the bridge's direction. With his mouth open and the first syllable of his words at the tip of his tongue, he turned his head to the noise as a primitive reaction and just when he saw what was heading for them, he felt his body falling to the ground with an unusual weight on top of it.

A series of consecutive explosions followed and a feather landed on Sniper's cheek.


	3. Divergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet the divergent Sniper and Heavy. If you get a feeling of deja vu in the beginning of this chapter, then I did a good job.

_“One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them.”_

― Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

Three years ago, the BLU Sniper would have been utterly frustrated to die from a bodyshot. Five years ago, he wouldn't have even understood why his fingers hadn't taken the shot when the opening had been in front of his eyes, despite commanding them to do so. However, nowadays, he couldn't care less. In fact, it amused him.

"One more kill and ya'll dominate me, mate."

"Oi know and Oi'm waitin' for ya! Show me yer soon ta be dead body."

"Oh, bugger ya! Ya'll never get it!"

 _"This me's so childish..."_ The BLU Australian mentally shook his head after a twinge of nostalgia.

He had to admit that it had been weeks since he had paid attention to what his body was doing inside the videogame. Since that Scout had taught him how to surf the internet, losing himself into the endless content of YouTube had become an addictive habit. In the beginning, it had been quite difficult to concentrate while his legs were moving by themselves or when an acute pain suddenly startled him but after a couple of months, the BLU could have perfectly been laughing from a silly moment he was watching just to realized that his mouth didn't emit any sound because he was floating in Respawn after being killed.

Therefore, it was a mystery why he was playing along with this stupid competition.

Maybe it was because for once in a long time, the other Sniper had been able to reach him through his self-imposed bubble, maybe it was because it reminded him that this virtual world had more to offer than just death and pain.

Obliging to that anonymous childish rival's whim was his today's good action.

The countdown was almost reaching its end when at last, the BLU Sniper got out of cover and somehow, his player fortunately scoped right at the center of his target's head. The BLU saw his rival's lips quirked up through his scope and he matched that same smile as both of them caressed the trigger of their corresponding rifles, ready to take those beautiful headshots.

"That Most Dangerous Mane beard looks terrible on ya." He faintly chuckled to himself, not being able to hold a straight face in such a tense moment.

He could almost hear the sound of his weapon and its recoil against his shoulder when something unexpected happened. A message popped up on his visual field and almost at the same time, a strange invisible wave washed his body from head to toe. Confused about what he had just felt, the Australian went immediately to check out the notification.

It said that the servers had been finally shut down and it asked the players to disconnect from the game.

Sniper grinned at that new information.

It was apparently a glitch. A wonderful and precious glitch that was going to grant him the opportunity to enjoy as many videos as he could watch, with the similar peace of an empty community server, until the error was patched and after half a decade of existence, the BLU knew by experience that Valve hours weren't equal to normal terrestrial hours so it was going to take more time that anyone could imagine.

Oh, bless whoever was to blame for this mistake!

Excited about the idea of catching up with the last channel he had subscribed, the Australian closed his eyes and tried to open a web browser tap but he found himself unable to.

 _"That's odd..."_ The grin instantly disappeared from his face.

The sharpshooter was no expert in informatics and code but as far as he had been told, he should had been able to instinctively navigate through any program that was installed in the computers the server was linked to.

Did this mean that they weren't connected to Valve's central computers anymore? That didn't make any sense. What had that update done to the server?

Refusing to be discouraged by his first failed try, he concentrated and gave it a second chance, this time he focused on summoning all web browser he had ever heard but it led to the same result.

Fucking tards! Did those wankers expect him to stand still for hours without any source of entertainment?! Without any target or purpose?! He had been created with a Sniper's personality. He needed an objective so he wouldn't be driven insane.

The Australian let out a groan, squeezed his eyes even harder and tried again, and again, and again.

He would rather prefer a thousand times over the darkness that what he was expected to endure. Waiting was part of his fake job but waiting without a reason wasn't something he thought he could face, not after spending that many hours in the gorgeous alternative dimension that was the internet.

Fuck whoever was to blame for this mistake!

He furiously threw his Machina to the floor. The weapon bounced and fell from the balcony with a metallic clang but Sniper didn't get to hear its landing due to the minigun that was noisily spinning downstairs.

...

He blinked, astonished.

He had thrown his rifle. HE HAD THROWN HIS RIFLE!

His previous erased grin quickly returned to his lips.

With a new kind of enthusiasm he would have never believe to possess, the BLU delved into his recently acquired freedom of movement. He took a step to the right, then to the left, backwards and forwards. He jumped a little bit, crouched, spread out his arms and stood in one leg while doing stupid signs with his hands. In the process, his Ghastly Gibus slipped from his head and he happily kicked it with all his strength to kingdom come.

Maybe... Maybe his RED doppelganger's attitude was right. Maybe this world had more to offer than just death and pain.

When the infernal noise of that monster of a weapon finally ceased, the Australian didn't contain his need to share this amazing development with the teammate who's presence had been a mighty task to ignore.

"Heavy! Heavy! We can move! We can bloody move!" He exclaimed ecstatic while jumping around and broadly waving at him with both arms to illustrate his point.

With his back still facing the sharpshooter, the Russian twisted his neck as its maximum so he could verify if that audible excitement was justified and his expectations weren't disappointed. In fact, it surpassed what he had previously conceived. A hatless Sniper was climbing down from the balcony with the eagerness of an hyperactive Scout and the mad laugh of a drunk Medic.

The human bear observed the scene for a long second and after exaggeratedly blinking as a coping mechanism, he turned his gaze to the Brass Beast on his hands and released it. The weapon impacted against the ground with an arid thud, removing from the mountain of the man a heavy weight, physically and psychologically.

With a gradual growing smile, he admired his free hands and swivelled his body to the approaching Australian. Then, Heavy took the first free step of his virtual life and mirroring the open arms of the other man, he vigorously hugged him with all his natural strength, lifting him from the ground.

"We can move, tiny Sniper! We can move!" He proclaimed at the same time that a joyful laugh took control of his body and he swung the assassin around like a ragdoll.

"Aarg... Ya're... choking me, mate..." The sharpshooter managed to mutter employing the residual air that miraculously still had inside his lungs.

Thrilled by the overwhelming list of new opportunities, the big guy almost missed Sniper's complain but after realising that he might have underestimated his powerful embrace, he freed the man and set him on his feet again.

"Sorry." The Russian apologized, despite his cheerful spirit not having been dishearten a bit.

At feeling the pressure from his body being removed, the Australian took a deep breath to regain his dear oxygen and with a hand laying on his hip as support, he nervously chuckled with a lopsided smile:

"Ya almost killed me there."

After all what he had been through in his implanted memories and in his virtual life, it would have been very pathetic that his first notable action as a free digital man would have been an accidental death by asphyxia. Very, very pathetic.

Heavy chuckled along him and just went he was going to pat his back as a consolation, he froze on the spot.

_"Блядь!"_

His expression instantly darkened into a deep guilty sorrow.

_"Блядь! Блядь! Блядь!"_

Thrown off guard by the Russian's sudden change of behaviour, Sniper was going to ask him what was wrong when he was interrupted by a word he would have never believed to hear from a Heavy.

"Fuck!"

The human bear turned his head to the creepy lit bridge. The blood-stained bodies of a RED Pyro and a RED Medic laid scattered along it.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now on I'm going to be introducing new characters almost every chapter, some will be more canon than others but I hope you love them all.


	4. We need a Medic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny because the title of this chapter makes reference to a story I haven't written yet.
> 
> ♪♫♬We need a Medic!  
> I'm holding out for a healer to come help with the fight.  
> He could make us strong,  
> he could make us push hard,  
> and he could pop a good ÜberCharge. ♪♫♬

It was Heavy's fault. He had caused this ghoulish bloodbath. He had kept shooting after the notification had pop up. In spite of how weird it had looked like when his former enemies had stopped advancing in his direction, he had just held the minigun and let it continue his job. He had just admired his massacre like he usually did and had given in on that brutal animalistic bloodlust he loved so much. He had given in immensely pleased.

Why it had taken him so long to realise what it was going on? He could have prevented this!

Sniper followed Heavy's gaze and acknowledged for the first time the two injured REDs.

One single thought crossed both minds in that precise same second:

_"Does Respawn still work?"_

The Russian didn't plan to patiently wait to get out of doubts. As fast as a Heavy was programmed to run, he covered the distance between them and his first victim but just when he crouched next to the Pyro, his body began disappearing.

The giant watched as his corpse dematerialized in front of his eyes and a wave of relief overcame him. He hadn't killed him for real. Thanks lord Gabe! Respawn was on! He wouldn't have forgotten himself if he had stolen the life and freedom of another mercenary because of his slow time reaction, of his shameful slow time reaction.

He was almost going to smile when he heard the RED Medic convulse and spit blood behind him. The Santarchimedes that was nesting on the German's extended arm, jumped to a side, cooed in surprise and went back to caress his owner wounded hand.

Heavy didn't lose time and knelt next to him.

Once he set his eyes on the Medic, he could not look away, specially because he was the culprit of this crime.

The German was a complete mess. He was laying face down on a pool of his own blood and his lab coat, usually impeccable white, was soaked with the color red. It was impossible to distinguish where the bullet holes were and his chest, going up and down in an irregular and huffed pattern, was a sign that he wasn't going to resist for much longer. Moreover, his glasses were missing and his blue eyes, wide open but at the same time completely unfocused, seemed to be looking through Heavy's soul.

During his virtual life, the gentle giant had witnessed plenty of Medics die, by his own hands or by the hands of his temporary teammates but this time it felt scarily different. It felt exactly as painful, no, even worse as when the Classic Heavy had killed his doctor in front of his eyes. That agonizing memory had seemed very distant in history for the Russian a couple of minutes ago but now, he could only but relived it.

No! He wasn't going to allow that to happen again. He wasn't going to be the murderer of this Medic regardless if he would safely respawn or not.

"Doktor, Doktor, can you hear me? Heavy's here. Heavy's here. I'm going to get you help. Don't worry. Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine." The human bear anxiously whispered trying to reassure the dying mercenary and apparently himself too.

Almost at the edge of unconsciousness, Medic tried to chuckle and coughed blood again.

A HEAVY WITH A PERFECT ENGLISH!

This hallucination was incredibly entertaining!

First, he had collapsed to the floor without dying, then Archimedes had come to life and now he had a fluent Heavy comforting him on his deathbed. It was just a pity that the game was going to erase him from existence after he respawn. The corruption of his own code had to be over astronomic levels!

This experience was so amazing! Medic only wished for a clearer head so he could effectively study his digital profile before saying goodbye to this virtual world. Why his mind had to be so dizzy in such an interesting moment? And why his limbs felt so cold?

The mountain of a man was ready to carry the doctor bride style to the next medkit before Sniper's yell stopped him from lifting the German:

"Don't move him!" He ordered almost as a spontaneous reflex that surprised even himself.

"He's dying!" The apparent fluent Heavy loudly roared in a combination of desperation and fury. His eyes stated his willingness to break whoever's spine decide to get in his way.

Strewth! The Australian contained himself from taking a step back at feeling the air created by the scream clashing against his face. The giant looked so intimidating with that Tsar Platinum uniform, it was almost tempting to let him be the authority around but Sniper could not back down. They would both regret it if he did. He swallowed his hesitations and pump up some determination to his body language.

"Oi know but he has several bullet wounds and he's sufferin' from massive internal and external bleedin'. If this world works like the real one now, ya'll just accentuate his major blood loss and provoke him a cardiac arrest 'fore ya reach a medkit."

The sharpshooter took a pause to analyse the overcomplicated explanation he had given to the edge-of-panicking Russian. Why had he chosen those fancy words to make his point across? That quack's videos had surely influenced him. Will the big guy understand him? He seemed to know more English than the average Heavy.

Never mind.

"Ya'll kill him, Heavy. Don't move him." He commanded firmly and knelt beside the moribund doctor, checking his vital signs with the steady hand of a professional sharpshooter and more confidence on what he was doing that it was entirely true.

A SNIPER WITH MEDICAL TRAINING!

Medic tried to chuckle again but this time neither of his muscles reacted at the slightest to his wishes.

This was getting more fascinating by the moment! What would be next? A Spy with an Australian accent? A Soldier with an IQ higher than an average chimpanzee? He couldn't wait!

He was so glad he was dying! Best day ever!

Well... That had been an overstatement.

Beating the day he had given that Mega Baboon heart with the ÜberCharge devise to Heavy was an impossible achievement. Regardless if that man hadn't been really him.

"There has to be something we can do." The Russian spoke up and it resembled more a plead than anything less.

Following his suggestion, Sniper threw a quick exploratory glance to his patient while trying to recall the next step when dealing with this kind of severe injuries. However, he could only but to become amazed of how the RED hadn't perished yet. By now, the lungs of any other normal human shouldn't have been able to work at any level and why in the world wasn't he bleeding more profusely? It almost seemed as he was slowly healing.

The Australian mentally facepalmed himself. Of course he was slowly healing, he was a Medic! Medics had the ability to regenerate their HP and use their Mediguns to restore other's health bars.

THE MEDIGUN!

Sniper jumped over the German to the other side of his body and grabbed the end of the Medigun that was partially hidden under the blood-soaked lab coat. The hose was disgustingly wet and it was obvious that the healing machine had seen better days but as he listened carefully, he detected the softly hum of a functional device.

Without any better option, he pointed the Medigun at his legitimate owner and pulled the lever.

Would this work? He had no idea.

Santarchimedes flied to Sniper's shoulder and an exhilarating shiver surfed through the sharpshooter's body.

During a terrifying second, nothing happened and the duo's hopes were prematurely crashed only for a fleeting moment because suddenly after, the Medigun come back to life and a red foggy mist wrapped around the injured doctor. While producing  an unusual noise that indicated that it wasn't at its best, the machine began doing its job and its medical/magical powers started healing the fallen Medic's wounds.

The pool of blood didn't make a sign of shrinking but more slowly than the in-game's average regenerative rate, color and heat returned to the German's limbs. With them, the pain that had gone unnoticed until now made an stellar appearance and the Medic could only but to let out a broken groan that developed into a desperate attempt to catch his breath.

Why had he asked for a less foggy mind? He wanted to take that statement back. He desperately wanted to take that statement back. This was _verdammt_ excruciating!

The Medic curled up into a foetal position and almost immediately, Heavy softly rested his massive hand on his shoulder as a supportive gesture.

"Hold on a bit longer, Doktor. You'll be healed in no time." The gentle giant assured him, this time feeling more confident on his words. However, he lifted his gaze to meet Sniper's one with a thin line for lips and noiselessly muttered:

"Right?"

Just after the Australian shrugged as an answer, Medic's lab coat was gradually returned to its pristine white color and his glasses inexplicably rematerialized on top of the bridge of his nose. Surprisingly, the pool of blood remained there but all bullet wounds were apparently healed.

When the doctor partially stood up and laid his back against the bridge, the mountain of man chuckled and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Is Doktor feeling better?" He asked with a soft smile and an exaggerated Russian accent that he hadn't been using previously.

Medic stared astonished at the scene. A visibly concerned Heavy in clean-cut uniform was kneeling in front of him with his hands and pants stained by blood and a boastful stand-tall Sniper was holding his active Medigun with his living dear Archimedes resting on his shoulder. Both mercenaries from the opposite team.

Despite his previous assessment, the German was forced to reject his hallucination hypothesis. Now that he had been restored to his usual physical and mental condition, he couldn't spot any abnormality on his own code. Therefore, he wasn't the cause of this phenomenon beyond the bounds of possibility.

Before returning to the world of interaction, he checked out the notification that had appeared in his visual field at the same moment that he had being filled with bullets. It said that the servers had been finally shut down and it asked the players to disconnect from the game.

Eureka! So it was the update! It was the update that had triggered the impossible! They were free!

Medic's lips quirked up and replied with an evident excitement in his voice:

"I have never felt better, _mein Freund_."

Heavy's smile became a grin and Sniper raised his chin proud by his success.

After that, the doctor let out a chuckle and proceeded to stand up, accompanied through all the process by the Russian's hand, ready to catch him up in the case he might wobble. Once the three men were up to their feet, Medic decided to speak his mind and satisfied his curiosity after the recent contradictory facts.

"One small zhing I vant to verify. I am not sure if I imagined zhat part during my near death experience or not but... Did you completely lose your accent, _Herr_ Heavy? Because it vill be zhe first time I meet such unusual specimen." He asked completely nonchalantly, like if his legs weren't still a bit unsteady from that terrifying event in retrospective.

"Ha! Oi can promise ya that ya didn't imagine it, doc. The big guy sounds more fluent than a Pommy." Sniper assured him while looking at the mountain of a man for a sign of common agreement.

Instead, the human bear switched his gaze from one mercenary to the other with an apparent confusion face.

"Heavy does not know what you are talking." He declared with the most thick Russian accent they had ever heard and crossed his arms over his chest, physically expressing his obliviousness.

At that statement, the Australian's confidence was drained instantly.

"Wot?... But... Oi... Ya... Oi..." He stuttered while shrinking like a whitened tree at each monosyllable.

Instead, Medic raised an eyebrow at the massive Russian and tilted his head.

" _Herr_ Heavy..." He muttered with an scolding tone.

The big guy managed to maintain a poker face for a couple of more seconds until he uncontrollably burst into laughter.

"I'm sorry." Heavy apologized between guffaws and bent over, slapping his knee. "I needed this and you served it to me in a silver platter, Sniper." He joyfully explained with an almost unnoticeable trace of his characteristic Russian accent. "It doesn't matter how many times I pull this joke, it never gets old."

At discovering the truth, the sharpshooter let out a discontent grunt and diverted his gaze to the side, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Was this his reward for coming up with a plan to save the Medic's life? A life that the big-head had almost ended due to his negligence? What a bloody fantastic way of professing gratitude, wanka.

Medic rolled his eyes at the scene and cleared his throat to politely made Heavy know that he was overcrossing dangerous limits. In return, the Russian decided to appease himself. After all, the Australian had kept a cold head while they had most needed it, he owned him some respect for amending his sloppy mistake.

Once recovered, the human bear settled a hand on the sharpshooter's free shoulder, the one that wasn't occupied by Santarchimedes, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Thank you for being the bigger man, tiny Sniper. Doktor and Heavy sincerely appreciate your help." Heavy pronounced each word with utter solemnity and due to his lack of accent and his deep profound voice, the "tiny" detail almost went unnoticed.

Additionally, Medic's dove joined the praise with a coo and rubbed his feathery head against Sniper's cheek in gratitude.

"And Archimedes too." The gentle giant added with a chuckle.

Being caught unprepared for such a unexpected and earnest apology, the Australian went to tip his hat as an approval just to find air where his fedora should have been.

 _"Oh, yes. Oi threw away my Ghastly Gibus."_ He internally remembered but nonetheless, he made the hand gesture without the piece of cloth. He felt completely ridiculous doing so but it would have been even more humiliating if he had awkwardly retreated his hand to his pocket as his first instinct had suggested.

Heavy didn't question the gesture's meaning and offered him an appreciated smile.

With Sniper's partially full height and confidence restored, both men turned to the RED doctor and swallowing his pride, Medic let out a neutral " _Danke_ ".

To be honest, the Australian hadn't performed a tricky surgery while a battle was taking place around him or nor he had dealt at the same time with several bleeding patients aid by non-existent tools and resources. He had only pulled the lever of his Medigun to heal him. Everyone could have pulled the lever of his Medigun. That action had nothing to be admired.

However, the German had to admit against his inner feelings that there had been some meritorious elements in his deed. Sniper had been quick witted and creative. He had known when to enforce his authority and he had shown a remarkable confidence in a field supposedly alien to him.

The sharpshooter had exceeded expectations and Medic should have been grateful for that. It had prevented him from a trip to respawn and dying was never enjoyable, no matter how many times he had suffered it. Therefore, this sour nasty emotion had no right to invade every cell of his body, lurking around like a wicked fog, poisoning his enthusiasm.

Was it jealousy? Ha! Him? Jealous? Hilarious!

Was it hate? Nah... Maybe that was too much.

Was it indignation? Plausible. The German would rather take that option.

After those many years dragged around as the digital ragdoll he had been, forced to heal teammates who only cared about themselves, being screamed by a whole team for his assistance just to be forgotten quickly afterwards and more importantly, forbidden from exercising his free medical research, a simple thanks had become the difference between a decent day and a living nightmare for this doctor.

He had been the hero who had never gotten proper credit and that, had embittered him, deeply embittered him. More than he realised.

It was ridiculous. It was foolish. The canon Medic had never cared about being public acknowledged before, but watching Sniper being congratulated so sincerely, it twisted his stomach in an outrageous way.

This corrupted updated was full of extraordinary opportunities and amazing events to study and here he was! Feeling aggravated for suggesting himself giving credit to a simpleton Sniper who hardly knew how to correctly hold his precious Medigun.

Right now, he wouldn't mind to exchange his nine souls for his bonesaw. Piercing through a couple of ribcages and several fleshy entrails was exactly what he needed to recover his electrifying passion. On top of that, he could also harvest their organs for further experiments. He could experiment freely again! Ho, ho, ho. He was already feeling more cheered up just my imagining it. Sharp brilliant metal tainted with his enemies' blood.

At that thought, the Medigun's hose dematerialized from the Australian's hands and an Ubersaw appeared around the doctor's clenched fist. Lost in his sadistic fantasies, the German didn't even notice it but both BLUs did and automatically cringed at the RED's incompressible change of mood. Why was there an insane grin on the Medic's face? Why and how had he summoned his saw out of the blue?

Heavy went to ask for an explanation that could justify that murderous smile while Sniper was already taking a step back, just in case, when the distinctive sound of a rocket-jump interrupted the moment. The three mercenaries, Medic included, lifted their heads to the area of the bridge's roof where the apparent Soldier had roughly landed. After a couple of staggering steps, the man seemed to gain some speed and along with one of his very characteristic war cries, he fired two more rockets, this time, forwards. The trio heard him ran some more meters until he allegedly rocket-jumped again.

Then, a series of consecutive explosions followed, a couple of screams where mixed in the racket and the silence returned, only after the sound of a meaty object impacting against the sandy hard ground.

" _Dummkopf_..." The German irritably muttered and started walking towards the direction of the disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an unusual long chapter. I wanted to divided it into two parts but I didn't find the right spot to do so. I hope you liked it. EVERYTHING HAS AN EXPLANATION! 
> 
> Moreover, as much as I love the quotes from Brave New World, there will be no more until the last three chapters of the story. Sorry, mates.


	5. I'm Soldier, THE Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream Fortress is here and I got hook into a new series so maybe in a couple of weeks the updating pace of the chapters will slow down. I still have one more ready to go and another half done that I hope to finish this week but I'm struggling to find motivation.
> 
> Fuck, I've just reviewed this chapter today and it feels half as good as when I wrote it.

If that was how a déjà vu felt, the RED Sniper had to confess that it felt mildly painful. Being completely honest, his head wasn't ready for a second date with the floor. At least, not so soon and neither so unexpectedly.

Still dazed by the bump, the sudden attack and probably the brief blackout that he wasn't sure if it had been a real blackout or he had only instinctively closed his eyes, the Australian tried to move his arm to help himself sit up when he realised that it didn't budge.

In that instant, cold piercing dread invaded his body.

No! No, no, no. They had just been granted freedom from the first time. They could not steal that sweet miracle from him so quickly. He hadn't even had a moment to consider what he wanted to do with it. It wasn't fair!

At the edge of panicking, Sniper attempted to move his body, any part of his body, his arms, his torso, his legs. It didn't matter as long as he made sure that he hadn't regain his previous condition of human puppet.

"Calm down, bushman." Spy's voice commanded under his chin. "Zhe Soldier missed all his rockets. I believe zhat ape also failed his rocket-jump and ate zhe cold floor so we're safe for now." The Frenchman snorted and added with a whisper. "What a buffoon..."

At hearing the rogue's voice uncomfortably too close to his chest, the sharpshooter lifted a bit his head and intentionally focusing on his surroundings, instead of acting by instinct for once, he discovered who was literally on top of him.

It seemed to be the elemental reason why he had had so much trouble trying to move.

The BLU had pushed him to the ground employing a hold and was partially immobilizing him, with particular focus on the hand that was holding his kukri, keeping it as far away as possible from them. In fact, now that he was paying more attention to it, he could clearly convey that the stiffness of that arm, due to the unnatural position that it was being twisted, was also starting to hurt a little bit.

Moreover, Spy's hands were bloody freezing.

Suddenly, Sniper felt so awkward and violated.

"Get off of me, ya mongrel!" He demanded and attempted to free himself, just to accidentally spike the pressure of his restrained arm in the struggle.

He groaned in frustration and was already going to use his legs to knee the BLU in the gut as a possible option to get rid of him, when he spotted again one of those phantom expressions on the Frenchman's face.

The Spy almost seemed upset.

Stunned by the mirage of that cheerless emotion, Sniper stopped squirming to observe him more carefully but the master of espionage was quick to hide whatever vulnerability he had unintentionally shown under his typical unsparing disdain. The Australian, instead, was left completely confused.

"You are exactly zhe uneducated savage animal zhat I remember you being." The BLU scornfully spat back while releasing him violently and rolling to the side.

Then, he began crawling towards the glassless windows in the most dignifying and angrily way an adult man could crawl.

For a class who's job basically consisted in standing up, looking through the scope of their rifles and shooting their targets, Snipers were surprisingly unobservant regarding the bigger picture around them and Spy could only blame himself for expecting a pinch of gratitude from the outback man.

The Frenchman hadn't been conscious of his actions when he had thrown his old rival to the ground but if the rockets hadn't completely missed them, he would have been the one to receive the majority of the damage. He could have died trying to save the bushman and that poor excuse of a professional hadn't even noticed it yet and probably wasn't going to. That filthy jarman only cared he had used a hold instead of jumping over his torso like an idiotic fool from those cheap action movies.

No, thanks. Spy had preferred to not accidentally be stabbed by the other's big knife he seemed so keen to keep around.

Without the BLU pinning him against the floor anymore, Sniper sat up and pushed his anxiety down to the deepest part of his mind. He was aware that his hat had fell off from his head again but this time, he decided not to pick it up. It was a lost cause. Instead, he set his kukri aside and massaged the wrist Spy had been using as leverage. There were no marks and it didn't hurt anymore but somehow, he could still feel those cold fingers against his skin.

Rediscovering his freedom for a second time, he admired with a chuckle his hand opening and closing at his will. It was such a simple gesture but immensely pleasing nonetheless. He didn't remember missing these little things.

However, at the fourth time of repeating that process, he noticed a couple of white feathers around the area he was sitting.

SIR HOOTSALOT!

Oh, no! He had been perking on the window where the rockets had exploded!

Had he been... been...? No...

With a terrifying feeling wriggling all over his stomach, the Australian desperately looked around the room in hopes of catching sight of his animal companion but unfortunately, the owl was nowhere to be found.

"Sir Hootsalot! Come here, Hootsalot!" The RED painfully called for the bird as his last resource.

At hearing the distress on the bushman's voice professed towards his recently resurrected pet, Spy bitted his tongue and didn't dare to even throw him a contemptuous look. He knew from previous experience that if he started losing his temper, his acquired Australian accent would began to resurface and he believed he had covered well enough his initial slip to screw up again because of that _enculeur de mouches.*_

Apparently, the Frenchman wasn't the only one to hear Sniper's shout because not much later, Sir Hootsalot made a triumphal entrance from one of the side doorframes and landed on the sharpshooter's lap. With relief masking a contained grimace of pain, the sharp claws of his owl weren't kind against his leg, the Australian happily chuckled. At the sight of this gorgeous animal being unharmed, he began enthusiastically petting it with a soft smile. He complimented the beautiful predator and the animal seemed to return that fondness with a soft hoot.

Meanwhile, Spy deliberately ignored all the mushy show that was going on behind him and craned his neck outside the window, making sure that Soldier who had attacked them was knocked out for good. The American, who to the Frenchman's surprise, was from his own BLU team, was still laying there in the ground of the RED base entrance. It gave the impression that he wasn't totally unconscious or dead, because time to time, his mouth moved to let out an incomprehensible complaining groan but apart from that, he didn't seem capable of much more.

"Ha! At last zhat imbecile has been decommissioned." Spy announced, unfairly channeling his repressed disappointment for the jarman against the fallen crazy American. "I can't believe he failed each and every one of his shots. He and his whole Soldier class are just an assortment of incompetent birdbrains."

In that precise moment, the trained reloading of a shotgun, at the back of the room, instantly froze the blood of the two support classes.

Startled by this sneaky new intruder, both mercenaries and bird turned their heads to the origin of the noise.

A helmetless RED Soldier with the Lord Cockswain's Novelty Mutton Chops beard cut and his smoking Pipe was standing confidently behind them. He was dressed with an opulent Veterans Attire and he wore it with the sharp tenacity of a real general who had went to hell and back, who had witnessed cities been erased from the map and innocent lives fading in front of his eyes.

"Rocket-jumping is an arduous art to master, Frenchie. I'd like to see you try." The American collectedly challenged him, projecting his voice instead of raising it, sounding exactly and at the same time, completely distinct, from how a Soldier spoke.

Additionally, he reloaded again his Reserve Shooter just for the theatrical effect and smiled.

Along with that serene but intimidating smile, his eyes shone with a spark improper for a Soldier. A spark that denoted an unmatchable wise experienced mind neither of them had seen before from any other mercenary and specially, not from a Soldier.

That spark was alarmingly terrifying.

Puzzled by the paradox of a man in red uniform and maybe a little afraid of what he might try to do for catching him talking trash about his class, Spy quickly accessed the American's profile and became even more astonished when he stumbled upon his digital birth date.

It had to be a glitch. That date couldn't possibly be true.

He closed the tap and tried again.

The birth date remained unchanged.

Unable to believe what his eyes were reading, he rapidly scrolled up to check the serial number of this mercenary.

 _Oh, mon Dieu..._ That man wasn't any ordinary Soldier, he was THE Soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Literally, fly fucker. A majestic French insult.


	6. Veterans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have just reached the number of chapters I had stored. I hope to have the next chapter for next week but it might take two.
> 
> Enjoy for now!

Completely taken aback by the way this new RED Soldier carried himself and Spy's restrained expression of awe, Sniper made his fingers crawl towards his kukri as subtle as possible. The other Soldier had attacked them without a warning and this one was evenly armed and potentially more dangerous. If this supposedly teammate dared to threaten them, the outback man was ready to fight his way out.

"If you don't attack me, I'm not gonna shoot you." The American announced in a dismissing tone, without even looking at him, and released his shotgun as a peaceful indication. The gun, instead of being claimed by gravity, dematerialised on his hands like a magic spell, like it usually did when the players made them switch weapons.

At that scene, Sniper became even more unnerved of how the other had read him so easily and how so naturally and confidently had gotten rid of his Reserve Shooter.

Who was really this man? Soldiers didn't act like this at all. Could he be a disguised Spook?

At last, the BLU Frenchman kicked into action again and stood up. His hands went to fix his tie just to realised that he wasn't wearing any, so he set them next to his sides as nonchalantly as he was capable of faking. It was a good enough display but maybe not as good as he would have in other circumstances.

"I zhought your kind was a myth." He confessed with an ounce of amazement that he did his best to hide from his voice.

The RED Soldier shrugged at the statement and casually approached him. Then, he bent uncomfortably close to Spy's face, theatrically examining him without initiating eye contact. The BLU felt the sudden urge to take a step back but he knew better than letting himself be intimidated. Besides, the window was behind him. If he followed that precipitous instinct, he might trip over and fall. He kept himself solid on the spot with a displeased expression.

For a long second, that unusual Soldier looked exactly as clueless and stupid as any other. He seemed to have spaced out and that collected behaviour he had been displaying before, temporarily evaporated as incomprehensibly as his Reserve Shooter had disappeared.

The Frenchman was going to make a sarcastic comment when at last, the American's soul returned to his body. He straighten his back and with a hint of amusement, he expressed:

"And I thought Spies' hair was black, not dark brown."

It was the turn for the secret agent to shrug.

"I know. It seems zhat those unmasked Spy models were fake." He pointed out and the mature Soldier gave him an agreeing nod along with an affirmative hum.

Sniper was feeling so lost in this conversation. Which "kind" did this Soldier apparently belong to? Why the American acted as if he had seen Spy's face before? Where had they found those "unmasked Spy models" they were talking about?

So many questions were circling around his mind and he didn't dare to formulate them out loud in fear of being mocked. Spy was surely going to reply him in a condescending manner and it was going to be hard to accept as reliable any words that might come out from a Soldier's mouth, regardless of how abnormal this particular individual was.

Sniper was starting to realise that there seemed to be so much more about this digital world that he didn't know. Maybe he should have pondered more about his situation and asked for additional information in the past months instead of simply enjoying the battles.

Determined to not be left behind, he transferred Sir Hootsalot from his lap to his forearm and got up to his feet, getting near the bi-color duo.

In the meanwhile, the RED Soldier partially hanged his body out of the glassless window, one feet swinging over the void and the other expertly placed on top of the wood frame. He had also wrapped his arm around the vertical section of the frame to keep himself balanced.

"We have a man injured with 8 HP. He's lucky he didn't blow himself up." He disclosed with the others, observing the BLU Soldier from above. "I'll get him a medkit or a Medigun as soon as possible. We can't risk anyone dying until we verify that Respawn is on. Do you understand?" He explained but it resembled more a command that a suggestion. For the first time until now, his tone was impregnated of the passionate tint of a Soldier but it still didn't sound exactly the same.

A bitter lopsided smile was drawn on the American's lips after he finished the warning but his beard hid it from the other mercenaries.

 _"We weren't this reckless in the beginning."_ He painfully thought to himself and then, he lift his gaze to the opposite base. For a second, it gave the impression that he had disconnected again from reality but he came back in a shorter period of time than before.

Passively jumping back into the balcony, the Soldier reported in a neutral tone:

"Men, we have company."

Both support classes frowned at the same moment and were going to ask which type of company was he referring to when a RED Medic, holding an Ubersaw, appeared from under the bridge and a BLU Sniper and Heavy were quickly to follow. Although, the BLU Sniper was visibly keeping his distance from the RED, in despite that the doctor's Santarchimedes was resting in his shoulder.

It was obvious that the Medic wasn't in his best mood. He wore a frustrated expression of not wanting to deal with anyone's problems, not even his own but he nonetheless crouched next to the semi-unconscious BLU Soldier to examine him and it was then, when he finally noticed the weapon in his own hand. He stopped for a second, perplex of how had the bonesaw gotten there.

Since when had he been carrying this Ubersaw without being aware of?

With his melee weapon raised up, he turned his head to the two BLUs behind him in search of an answer and the Medigun the BLU Sniper had borrowed but he was met with two concerned and dubitative faces and no medical gun. If he had to be honest, they looked even more puzzled than him and maybe slightly afraid. The trio from the bridge didn't get to exchange any words about their general confusion because the RED Soldier stole their attention in that precise moment.

"Ey, you three! Up here!" He shouted out and the three gazes from the bridge locked on to the other three from the balcony.

There was a long moment of judgemental silence between the two groups and the RED Sniper imagined that they were trying to discern if the mercenary from his balcony trio wearing blue pants and a simple shirt was actually an unmasked Spy or not. He expected at the realisation different degrees of shock from the men downstairs and maybe, a satiric comment about the Frenchman's face. Instead, he was met with a tease from his BLU doppelganger.

"Hi there, RED. Oi told ya, ya weren't gonna get that domination."

 _"Wot?! Seriously!?"_ He thought in disbelief. Was he really the only one how hadn't seen a Spy without a balaclava before? Where did they had gotten photos about Spy's real face? Because he didn't recall any in his implanted memories or during his life as a virtual man. Why he seemed to be the only one out of the loop here?!

"Piss off, BLU." He groaned between his teeth and the other slightly chuckled at his response.

Spy rolled his eyes at the exchange. At least, his face hadn't traumatized any of the recent visitors so that meant they were old enough to know how to use Google. That was one problem less to deal with although he had to admit, that it would have been entertaining to watch a Medic or a Heavy reacting to his face reveal.

"I'm dropping down." The RED Soldier informed to the ground level trio and without waiting for a confirmation, he took a step forward with his hands raised as a friendly indication and let himself fell downstairs. He expertly landed, crouching his legs almost until his butt touched his heels, and regained his full height in a swift move without any visible expression of pain in his face. His pipe remained firmly secured between his lips during all the process.

Some eyebrows were raised around both groups. That jump had been rather bold but also impressively executed. After that professional landing, it was the moment for the RED Medic and BLU Sniper to start suspecting that there was something out of the ordinary with this Soldier.

By contrast, Heavy had already spotted his offbeat behaviour based only on the way he had first called for their attention. He had encountered enough elder Soldiers to notice those little details and that second warning before jumping out of the window had confirmed that there wasn't any glitch on the digital profile of this veteran in red clothes. Although, the giant was surprised that he was really that old. He thought his kind had gotten extinct years ago.

The Russian took a step forward and offered him his massive hand.

"It's an honour to meet you, Sir."

At that sudden introduction, the RED looked at Heavy's hand confused and a little flattered, then his gaze switched to his face and stared at the bigger man for a second until he puffed out his chest in pride and energetically shook his hand.

"The pleasure is mine, comrade. It's hard to find veterans like you each day that it goes by."

Saying that RED Sniper's eyebrows were touching the ceiling would have been an understatement. Had that Heavy called a Soldier "Sir"? Had he called him "Sir" honestly meaning it, without any trace of mockery or deception? And where was the Russian's accent? The sharpshooter had came across Heavies with softer accents before but never to this level.

This was officially too much for him.

"You will understand when you grow up, bushman." Spy picked on him almost in a whisper so the others could not overhear him but strangely, it partially felt as he was telling the truth.

It didn't take much longer for the RED Medic and BLU Sniper to quickly access the American's profile. At discovering his digital birth date, the doctor tried to keep his reaction for himself while contrarily, the Australian proclaimed out loud:

"Bloody hell! Ya're from development! Oi didn't know that was possible." He removed his aviators as a cordial gesture and hurried up to offer his hand too.

At watching his BLU counterpart paying his respects to the Soldier, the RED Sniper furrowed even more disconcerted. Everyone was treating this drongo like some kind of war hero or superstar. Who was this man?

"That Soldier is older zhan zhe game itself." Spy clarified, in a whisper again."He is five times older zhan you. Way older zhan any of us."

 _"Older than the game itself..."_ Sniper repeated his words trying to digest them, trying to understand why it meant so much for the other mercenaries. Then, the sharpshooter began to comprehend that he was probably the youngest from the assembled group.

The RED veteran shook each one of their hands, doing his best to hide his blushing. Fortunately, his abundant beard and the dark night were decent allies for this mission. Even the grumpy Medic extended his for a handshake although he only seemed to comply to not be awkwardly excluded.

The German would never admit it but he was utterly impressed of how this Soldier had survived the pass of time. In the past months, he had already begun feeling the tentacles of despair around his mind and he wasn't sure if he would have resisted for as long as this mercenary had lived.

It was true that his class was the dumbest one and had the perfect type of personality that didn't care about their circumstances as long as they could fight for eternity but after more than a decade, even a moron like a Soldier was meant to break down.

Oppositely, this man gave the impression to be cleverer and saner than a typical Soldier.

 _"What would be next? A Spy with an Australian accent? A Soldier with an IQ higher than an average chimpanzee?"_ Medic remembered from his close encounter with death. He couldn't help but to let out a retrained chuckle and looked up to the Spy in the balcony.

If he had gotten that right too, he was definitely setting up a fortune-telling business.

At hearing the doctor laughing at his own joke, Soldier hastily shook his head to focus on the present moment and stroke his beard making an effort to remember why he had jumped from the balcony to the ground floor in the first place.

He looked down at the BLU injured Soldier.

Ah, yes! Of course!

He knew his attention span let a lot to be desired.

"I appreciate your respects, team but I'll appreciate more if you, Medic, could heal this fellow Soldier. He's almost dead." He suggested firmly but not without a shade of that past embarrassment in his tone.

"I am deeply sorry but I would have to argue against." Spy interrupted."Zhat Soldier attacked us and I am more zhan sure zhat he will try to kill us all if zhe doctor restores his 'ealth. His stupidity got him in his current condition and I propose to let him be as he is now. He isn't going to die if we don't touch him."

Medic's lips childishly curled downwards. No Spy with Australian accent. What a pity.

"I am not comfortable leaving anyone injured but as much as Heavy dislikes it, Spy has a point." The Russian reluctantly agreed. "This Soldier is 7 months old. We should discuss how to approach him before healing him."

"Yeah. 'Cuz reasonin' with him ain't an option." The BLU Australian added, putting his hands on his pockets.

"Do not fear, men!" The RED veteran exclaimed more loudly than he had been talking lately. He instantly received an array of weird looks but instead of being deterred, he cracked his neck and smiled as insanely as any mundane Soldier. "I have a plan."


	7. The plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere gratitude to my new Beta reader, who's current name is Ralsei (she changes it a lot), for double-checking this chapter.
> 
> I'm happy I got this chapter in time and I hope to be able to keep this pace for the rest of the month. December and January are expected to be very chaotic months for me but I will do my best to keep the story updated.

"Oi know ya all admire -" The RED Sniper tried to elaborated as discreetly as possible but was cut short by Spy's retorting whispering.

"How do you dare to conceive that I will admire any-"

"Whatever ya say, Spook." The marksman abruptly grumbled, raising his tone a little more than he intended. Then, he realised his flare-up and went back to murmurs. "Oi know ya all respect him. Better now?"

The Frenchman nodded in resigned conformity.

"Okay. Oi know ya all respect him but he's still a Soldier and Oi'll be downright out of my bloody mind if Oi trusted a Soldier's plan."

"Neither do I. Zhat's why I refuse to climb downstairs." The BLU explained with a sly smile. That mischievous grin made Sniper suspect that he truly only desired to have the best spot from where to witness the likely incoming disaster.

"Oi thought it was 'cuz ya feared to cut your _French_ delicate feet." He cynically said, putting extra emphasis on his nationality. The Australian wasn't going to let slide so easily having heard him speak with his own accent.

However, Spy ignored his insinuation as if it didn't mean anything to him.

"Zhat reminds me I should put my shoes back. I don't want to harm my French _exquisite_ feet, if we have to make a run for it." He explained casually, leaving his spot next to the window to retrieve his socks and shoes.

"Not _if_ we, _when_ we." Sniper rectified and petted Sir Hootsalot, mentally preparing himself to have his life endangered again.

"When we, zhen." The Frenchman repeated with a passive tone, rolling his eyes.

After a second of silence, the sharpshooter asked changing topics. "By the way Spook, where did ya put my sunnies? Oi can't see them around here."

"In zhe left pocket of your vest." The unmasked secret agent replied, like it was the most obvious place in the world.

"Wot? That's impossible. When did ya-" Sniper stopped speaking at patting down the aviators exactly where Spy had indicated. "Ya bloody spies..." He carped under his breath, shaking his head.

At the back of the room, the Frenchman let out a silent snort.

* * *

 

"Oi know ya're gonna think Oi'm downright out of my bloody mind but his plan could actually work." BLU Sniper murmured impressed.

"Soldier's stupid simplicity works astonishingly well in the TF2's universe so Heavy is afraid... that you might be right." The Russian softly responded, still unsure of how to feel about the plan.

"Preparations ready!" The RED veteran blurted, finishing removing his coat and without any regards, he threw it to the distracted BLU duo. Heavy caught it on the flight but it startled Santarchimedes nonetheless.

Without that jacket, all trace of the red colour was gone from Soldier's attire. His dark military pants and brown turtleneck sweater gave away a hint of which team he truly belong to but they were all counting on BLU Soldier to not pay attention. If he realised he was trying to be tricked from the very beginning, the plan would blow up before the RED American could start speaking, or yelling, to be precise. Because they all expected from him to yell... like a lot.

"We're only lacking the Medigun. Summon it, sweetheart, and let's heal this Soldier!" He shouted out at the Medic but instead, the German gave him a furrow. Not completely understanding the refusal, the veteran made some kind of apology face and added:

"Please?"

Partially less irritated, Medic pinched his nose. "I vould have summoned my Medigun long ago, if I knew how." He confessed irked as if it was Soldier's fault.

"Ah..." The RED patriot let out dumbfounded and stared at the nothingness for an awkward second, until he regained his assertive composure. It was the third time that the trio from the bridge had watched him act like that and every time it happened, it didn't make it less odd. BLU Sniper was beginning to believe that there were two personalities switching on and off from that Soldier's body of how drastic the change was.

The American extended his arms like he was holding an invisible tray and spoke firmly but respectfully.

"You have to concentrate on the weapon you want." He closed his eyes and a Escape Plan materialized on his hands. He opened them again and continued. "For me, it's instinctive. Use the feeling of switching weapons. It will help." The pickaxe slowly disappeared and a Reserve Shooter took his place shortly after. In a blink of an eye, the shotgun was substituted by a Direct Hit and before they could say anything, the three weapons were almost superposing on the same space due to how fast he was interchanging them.

It was impressive to admire how naturally the American interacted with the abnormal laws of the virtual world they had been confined in. After all, he had been born during the shaping of this artificial reality.

Medic closed his eyes and concentrated as instructed. A part of him felt undignified for following a Soldier's advice but his rational mind knew better than discarding potential valuable information before testing it.

It took him a second longer than the American but he managed to summon his Medigun and in consequence, his Ubersaw vanished from his belt.

At feeling the sudden weight on his hands, Medic opened his eyes to find out that Heavy and his Australian teammate were also holding their respective primary weapons.

After checking that his Breast Beast was in perfect condition, the Russian turned his gaze to the other side of the bridge. Indeed, the minigun had teleported from the spot he had left her exclusively fuelled by a simple thought. It seemed that the powers the players usually held over their bodies had been transferred to them. The giant wondered if they would be able to change cosmetics on the Respawn room too. It would be enjoyable to give himself some hair he could brush.

Medic pointed his Medigun at the injured BLU Soldier and exclaimed at the group:

"Everyone ready?"

The RED American slapped himself in the face and exaggeratedly puffed out his chest before replying at the top of his lungs:

"The commander is ready! Pull it already, cupcake!"

The doctor gave him another furrow but he pulled the lever nonetheless. At the first hums of the Medigun, Santarchimedes abandoned Sniper's shoulder and flew back to his rightful owner. Quickly after, a red mist started coming out of the healing machine, enveloping the semi-conscious BLU Soldier, but at the slightest contact, the halo changed into an unusual purplish blue instead.

As Medic observed how his patients health bar progressively refilled, he became aware of a transcendental fact. This was the first time on his virtual life that he was healing someone under his free will. It was true that he was socially being pressured by his teammate's expectations but he could have perfectly walked away and they would have had to accept his decision. To be honest, a small part of him was craving to let them down, to teach them an inexistent lesson but it was already too late to listen to it.

At catching the BLU Soldier unsteadily getting up on all fours, the doctor ended the healing. They had agreed to not completely restore his health just in case they had to fight him. The German had to admit that despite of this experience inducing a slight sour sensation in the pit of his stomach, it hadn't been as unpleasant as the one he was used to feel when forced by the players.

The RED American gave him a thumb ups in appreciation and proceeded to make their ears bleed with his blaring voice's volume.

"What are you waiting, maggot? Drop down and give me twenty. No! Better! Pay your respects to your superior officer and then, drop down and give me twenty. No! Fifty! One hundred! I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY!"

The BLU Soldier speedily stood up, faltering in the process, and gave him an erratic military salute.

"I'm here, private!" The RED patriot informed him immediately after.

His BLU counterpart was ridiculously facing the wall.

It took him a second but after being corrected, he jumped up and spun on the air at the right direction. He almost lost his balance when he landed but he was eager to offer his salute again.

"We're in danger, private! BLU is in danger! Mann Co is in danger! America is in danger!" The RED veteran continued without giving him time to process the situation.

"What?! Who's the foreign scum that's threatening the greatest country on the world? My country! The Commies? The Nazis? The cows? Because I'm gonna cut their tongues and force my fist all the way down to-"

"We don't know yet! That's what Miss Pauling has tasked me to investigate!" The RED interrupted him before the crazy helmet man could go on with his elaborated and infinite threats. Next, he firmly placed his hands on his younger version's shoulders and spoke with a scary realistic solemnity. "She has chosen me as the commander of this operation and I came all the way here to make you a proposition, son. I have read all the reports about you. I have read about your impressive rocket-jumping skills and your long list of well-earned medals during the war. I have read about the one man army you founded, flying by yourself to Germany and all the skulls you have crushed during your service to this country. And I could not be more proud of you, son. Our beloved America needs soldiers like you more than ever and I can't think of a better man to be my right hand on this quest. So tell me, Jane Doe. Will you accept this burdensome duty and fight under my command?"

The spectator mercenaries restrained the urge to clap at that speech.

They were all well aware that what had been explained was completely bullshit, specially knowing that they were artificial beings with fake memories, but the RED had put his words in such a convincing way, touching exactly the right strings in Soldier's pride, that it had turned into a extraordinary moving masterpiece to listen to.

However, they internally started panicking when the BLU Soldier didn't accept right away.

"Not _if_ we, _when_ we." The RED Sniper reminded Spy in a mocking whisper and pivoted his body, ready to run away if disaster was unleashed.

A second of excruciating silence later, they heard the BLU American sniffle.

"It'll be an honor, Commander! It'll be the greatest honor of my life!" The Soldier finally proclaimed and despite wearing a helmet, the current group could sense how he was at the edge of tears.

In response, Spy gave his old rival an exaggerated version of his previous sly grin. Additionally, he had a cigarette between his lips this time.

In the meanwhile, the veteran Soldier smiled broadly at his new pupil and patted his back in support of his decision.

"That's what I wanted to hear, son." Then, he gestured at the other three mercenaries from the bridge. "These are some of the men I have assembled for our mission. You probably know-"

"Sir!" His BLU doppelganger interrupted him, became totally stiff, double-checked that the colour of his own uniform was indeed blue and then, pointed an accusatory finger at the Medic.

"We have a RED between our lines, Sir!" He angrily barked out and took a step forwards, cracking his knuckles. The fake commander was quickly to set a hand over his chest to restrain him from his violent intentions.

"I'm aware, son. He's the invaluable Medic of our unit. He saved your life."

"That Fritz save my life?" He grumbled crabbily and looked at his pretended superior with a doubtful expression. Well, as much as a half covered face by a helmet could be considered  expressive.

"Affirmative!" Then, the RED American slapped the back of the BLU's head with an open hand in reprimand. "And you better abstain yourself from disrespecting my men!" Medic's eyebrows went up with mild surprise at being so passionately defended. "RED and BLU had worked together for the sake of this nation before and I expect from you to do the same again. Will be this a problem?!"

The BLU Soldier hesitated.

"I SAID WILL THIS BE A PROBLEM?!" The fake commander shouted out at him with an intimidating authority. Even Spy, who was one floor away from him, cringed away.

"No, Sir! No problem at all, Sir!" He resolutely answered back, giving a better version of his military salute.

"Good!" His tone took a warm bearing surprisingly quick and patted his doppelganger in a fatherly way. "Now show your deepest appreciations to our Medic."

The BLU helmet man hesitated again but this time, his older version didn't pressure him.

After a second of indecision, the younger Soldier took a deep breath and rigidly bent forwards as an Asian reverence.

"Thanks for the aid, Doc!" He still sounded kind of unconvinced but some genuine gratitude could be hinted on his words.

As his admirable new superior had previously mentioned, it wasn't the first time he had joined forces with the enemy to fight for the greater good. He had done it once... twice? I didn't matter. And he could do it again for such a noble cause.

He still didn't trust that foreign German in red uniform. As far as they knew he could be a traitor plotting to destroy all the ideas his nation stood for. But on the other hand, if it hadn't been for his healing, America would have laid defencelessly without the best protector this country had given birth to. HIM!

Dammit! It felt so good to be sincerely acknowledged for once, especially by such an honourable commander like this man. Have any of those maggots noticed his awe-inspiring beard? It was a marvellous phenomenon of nature, too powerful to stare directly at it. Like the sun!

While the BLU Soldier was facing the ground on his reverence, the RED veteran gave a silent wink and another thumbs up to Medic as his personal recognition.

The slight sour sensation in the pit of the doctor's stomach died out with the whole display of gratitude.

Medic's lips were curving up slightly when the sound of a familiar explosion coming from the BLU base put everyone on alert. Unsteady footsteps over the roof of the bridge followed that presumable rocket-jumping but no battle cry was screamed this time.

Assuming his fake role as real, the RED Soldier began giving orders.

"Do not engage conflict unless being attacked first! You, Sniper!" He pointed a finger, directing the attention to the duo on the balcony. "Visual report of the situation, now!"

The RED Australian mentally staggered for a second but then, satisfactorily reacted and squinted his eyes to discern the figure approaching.

The man running into their direction was wearing a helmet and carried a rocket-launcher over his shoulder. That was indisputable. But he seemed... short? Shorter in comparison to the other BLU Soldier that had attacked them. Weren't they supposed to be identical?

Spy let out an amused snort at figuring out it before Sniper, but he decided not to speak his mind.

Before the sharpshooter could share his hypothesis, the unknown mercenary rocket-jumped again, clumsily landing next to the group from the bridge.

No... Not another Soldier, please.

"Yeee-haaaw! The Engineer is rocket-here!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't know how crazy is to write an scene with 7 characters and having 2 Soldiers and 2 Snipers. I hope I didn't get you confuse at any point.


	8. The cake isn't a lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I was going to call this chapter "Helmets, rockets and a cake" but I'm already going to do some references to other games, like Portal or Overwatch, in this story, so why not?  
> 2\. This chapter got literally out of hand. I expected around 2000 words and has become the longest until now, 3300 words. Oh, God... Probably because I dedicated like 800 words to Scout's ramble.  
> 3\. I'm officially delaying my update schedule to 1 chapter every 2 weeks. Sorry people, next month things are going to get hectic for me and when the chapters get a bit longer than planned, I don't manage to finish them in one week. I hope you don't mind that much.  
> 

The BLU Engineer was excessively thrilled.

When that strange invisible wave travelled through his body, he couldn't believe it was indeed real. It wasn't until he realised that his arm had stopped doing that programmed loop gesture with his wrench, that his lips curved up in a broad euphoric grin.

He hurled his tool against the wall, while an anxious and incredulous laugh escaped from his throat, and then, he proceeded to celebrate it through an embarrassing display of excitement on the solitude of the BLU's intel room.

He jumped around while shouting at the top of his lungs. He let himself collapse to the floor and simulated doing snow angels. He took off his hardhat and bit it with all his might before trying to play soccer with it but he quickly gave up afterwards. He kissed his sentry and kicked his dispenser and then, repeated the process but interchanging the subjects of his affection and antipathy. He hoisted his active teleporter over his head and ran around the room with it like a delighted kid with his airplane toy.

At some point, he forced himself to stop and regain his breath.

The Texan decided to make the most of that moment and accessed different panels of the videogame's code to analyse what had changed in their virtual reality. As he had speculated, the server had been disconnected from the net and additionally, it was ignoring any input from Valve central computers. By the readings he was examining, the server seemed to be auto-running the new code in isolated mode and therefore, without the presence of any users of higher rank, the control of their bodies had fall upon themselves for the first time in their digital history. In other words, the server had crashed but in a more sophisticated way than a normal computer did.

Engineer knew that he could spend all day (or night, because it was dark outside) going over the information available to him through the incorporeal tip of his fingers. However, he opted for begin testing the hypothesis that were emerging in his head and satisfy the whims he had been denied through his whole existence.

He had now an ultimate goal to accomplish.

First stop: The Spawn room!

He waved goodbye to his buildings with that inerasable grin on his face and marched out of the intel room as the happiest man on cybernetic Earth.

Shockingly, after setting a foot outside the corridor, he heard someone crying.

The BLU Engineer ceased smiling.

He suddenly stood completely still, attentively listening to figure out from where those sobs were coming from. After two awful seconds, he hesitantly approached the ramp from his right. The source of the weeping was on that tunnel.

The tinkerer began ascending slowly, confused of why anyone would be crying in such a wonderful moment until at half way, he came across with a RED Scout laying on the floor. The young mercenary was covering his face with a brown Bill's hat while his chest hiccupped in sobbing. Moreover, his shirt was splashed in blood, as some of the walls around him. With all the tunnel covered in black plastic, it resembled a scene from a psycho movie.

Engineer's eyes went wide at encountering him in that state and quickly accessed the Bostonian's profile to assess his health bar. He needed to know if the kid was bleeding. He needed to know if he would have enough time to erect a dispenser or it was better to directly carry him to the supply closet of the Spawn room.

The Texan's instincts were already kicking in when he discovered that the kid was almost at his full health.

He wasn't crying from pain.

The Southern gentleman sighed relieved and with a sympathetic expression, knelt next to him. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder and due to Scout not jolting from the contact, Engineer assumed that the RED had been plenty aware of his presence.

"Hey, buddy. What's wrong? Why are ya cryin'?" He asked in soft tone.

A long moment went by until the Bostonian removed his hat from his face to speak. His gaze was locked to the ceiling instead of looking at the other man.

"I ain't-ain't crying. My eyeballs are just-just... trying frickin' hard to sweat." He whined between whimpers and as implausible as it might have sounded some seconds ago, he was right. His eyeballs were absolutely dry.

His whole face seemed to be making an horrendous effort to cry but his eyes were refusing to spill a tear. His eyelids were arrhythmically closing at each sniff he took and his lips were contorted in a forlorn lopsided smile but his eyes weren't watering at the slightest.

In that instant, Engineer had a hideous realization.

Their bodies weren't programmed to cry so therefore, they couldn't.

He clenched one of his fist as an overwhelming indignation assaulted him, confining that anger to that particular part of his body and retook the attempt to comfort the kid, more determined than ever.

"It's okay, Scout. This is a very-"

"No, man. It ain't okay." Scout interrupted him, still avoiding eye contact, and began ranting at high speed between hiccups. "We're free, Engie! Free to do whatever shit we want and I'm here, in the floor, like a wimpy kiddo tryin'... tryin'..." He punched the floor. "Because I realized I can't do any of the shit I really wanna. I can't hug my Ma and tell her how much I miss her. I can't argue with my stupid brothers over the TV channel. I can't play baseball in a real baseball field or read my favorite superhero comics. Two days ago was my 4-year birthday in dis dumbass digital cage and I can't even frickin' blow the candles of a cake! What hapless 4-year kiddo doesn't get a cake from his birthday, Engie? I'll tell you! Me! Us! And now I realize too dat I can't cry. Why? Why? Why?" He inquired frustrated at the air and went back to profusely sob.

A moment of heartbroken silence passed until Engie shared with a hopeful smile and a warm tone.

"I reckon I can help with the cake, string-bean."

The young man's head instantly turned to the Texas's direction and looked him in the eyes, or goggles, for the first time.

"You can?" Scout muttered incredulous with a not-so-desolated smile.

"Most likely. Ain't I well-known for solvin' practical problems?" The tinkerer attempted a joke.

Scout laughed optimistically at the prospect and his sobbing calmed down considerably.

"Yeah. But the cake ain't gonna be made of metal nuts and dispenser pieces, is it? I want a real cake I can fill my mouth with. Chocolate flavor, hardhat!"

"I promise I'll take all that into account." The tinkerer chuckled and stood up, offering him a hand to do the same. However, while there was a big lighthearted smile in his lips, his fist was still clenched behind his back.

Scout accepted the hand and got up to his feet emotionally tired. He put the wrinkled hat backwards on his head and had a deep breath to cast away the last traces of his crack-up. Then, he serenely smiled at the Texan as the other man patted his shoulder and keep going up the ramp.

After they reached the top, it didn't take much for the hyperactive Bostonian's mind to beginning seriously reconsidering how the tinkerer was going to acquire what he had asked for.

"Where are ya gonna get the ingredients ta make a cake, hardhat?"

"I won't need ingredients." The hatless Engie revealed, standing in front of the Spawn room with his hands resting in his hips. He stared at the automatic metal door like it was a complex challenge to affront, like he was seeing much more than what was at plain sight. Then, he turned at Scout and gave him a confident grin. "Wait here. I'll be right quick."

The young man frowned disconcerted by the other's explanation but he chose to obey for once.

Not thirty seconds had passed since the RED Scout had been left alone and he was already feeling anxious because of the await.

Had he been lied to? No, Engie wouldn't do that to him. Although, this BLU Engineer wasn't the Engie he remembered from his fake memories. His attitude had a close resemblance, but there could be much more under that first impression that he could have missed in his moment of weakness. Nevertheless, it would be unfair to distrust him after being so nice to him. If the Southern gentleman hadn't left the Spawn room yet, it was because he was working hard to make him a cake for which he claimed he didn't need ingredients for. That was rather weird, wasn't it? How you make a cake without ingredients? And why hadn't he let him come inside?

Anyway, despite this eternal waiting, the BLU wasn't going to let him down, was he? He wouldn't have promised him an amazing chocolate cake if he couldn't deliver. Wait... Had he literally promised him a cake? The Bostonian didn't remember the exact words but the BLU had sounded pretty certain about obtaining his baked request. He shouldn't worry, Engies were very smart, they always had a plan to solve everything.

A single minute went by and Scout's train of thought quickly shifted to how he regretted petitioning the cake. Jeez! Why had he told him all of that? About his Ma and his brothers and the comics and the cake? Do you know what's more pathetic than a 4-years old boy asking for a birthday cake? A awesome mercenary like him asking for a birthday cake. He was no little kiddo anymore! Maybe he should leave. Save himself the humiliation. Act as the last minutes had never happened.

Scout was so absorbed in his internal dilemma that he almost jerked away when he unexpectedly heard Engie signing to him.

"♪♫ _Happy Birthday to ya._

_Happy Birthday to ya._

_Happy Birthday dear Scout._

_Happy Birthday to ya._ ♫♪"

The RED Bostonian needed a second to recognize the man who was wishing him happy birthday.

The Engie was still wearing his blue Endothermic Exowear hoodie but he had changed his Gold Digger beard for a shorter model, the Scotch Saver. In addition, he was no longer bald, he had magically grown a Peacenik's Ponytail that was mostly stuffed under a Cloud Crasher, a Soldier's paratrooper helmet. Although, the most striking incorporation to that change of looks was the Original Rocket launcher that was resting on his right shoulder, in combination with his shinny Soldier Gunboats.

The distinct brown cake with four lighted candles, that the Texan had in his left hand, didn't attract Scout's attention as much as that impressive weapon that seemed even bigger, carried by a shorter man than his usual owner.

"What're ya waiting for, string-bean?" The Engie-Soldier asked him in a warm chuckle, noticeably enjoying the other's bewilderment.

"Eh?" was the only answer the young man could give him. He hadn't been listening to the question as engrossed as he was, admiring that human incongruity.

"Ya wanted to blow the candles of a cake. A chocolate cake. So that's what I got ya. C'mon, pick a wish before the candles melt down. I mean, they can't melt down. I didn't program 'em but the cake is startin' to feel heavy. So don't delay it much more, son." He explained like the metamorphosis he had gone through wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him.

Scout locked his gaze into the other's eyes, blue friendly eyes, not goggles, because the goggles were hanging around the tinkerer's neck, and made a wish.

The candles left a subtle smoking trace as their fire was snuffed out.

"Happy birthday, Scout." The Texan congratulated him one last time, placed the cake between his hands and headed for the corridor that connected with the external balcony of the BLU base.

At the speed of a tennis match, the Bostonian repetitively looked between the departing man and his gifted cake, until his legs rushed off behind the other mercenary.

At the instant that he reached him, his brain managed to reestablish his highway connection with his mouth.

"Engie! Engie! How did ya get dat rocket launcher? And the helmet? And the cake?" He enthusiastically embedded his face on the baked dessert to take a generous bite, uncaringly getting chocolate all over. Despite of his hamster-like chock-full cheeks, he didn't quit talking. "Oh, man! Dis cake, man! Dis cake! It's fukindelishman! You dunno how much I love ya in dis moment. If I knew how ta write, I'd write you a love letter, Rocket-Engie." He hadn't swallowed yet the content of his mouth but regardless, he had another bite. "Mmm... I'd write you an frikin' encyco-encycli-encyclopedia of love letters, man." He took another of his eager bites, officially declaring the victory of the chocolate stains over the clean area of his face, and kept going with his aimless chatter.

Engie couldn't hold back a chuckle, a hearty sincere chuckle, as the younger man's ramble went on and on.

This Southern gentleman had forgotten how it felt making another person happy, only driven by the simple reason that you could. It reminded him of a man he was no longer, despite some shared common vestiges.

That temporal warmness in his heart made him understand that whatever happen during their brief or endless period of freedom, this corrupted update was going to change them all.

Forever.

Observing the opposite base from the BLU balcony and burying down insecurities for another moment, the Texan sighed and put an end to the blather.

"I'll tell ya how I got my hands on all this if you beat me in a race to the RED base." He proposed with a cheerful tone and a provoking smile. "I warn you, son. I won't show mercy." He added caressing the rocket launcher.

Scout let out an unbelieving laugh.

"You? Rocket-jumpin'? That would be kickass to watch! Or disastrophic! Or both things at the same time! But..." His energetic spirit faded away as he idly sat on the edge of the balcony, legs hanging out. When the young man spoke again, his voice sounded calmly nostalgic. "I ain't gonna run, sorry. I've spent the last four years of my life runnin', jumpin', double jumpin' and dyin'... a lot. I'm hella tired of it. For once, I only wanna sit here, eat dis frickin' awesome cake and do nothin'. Well, maybe watch dat creepy base, the falling ufos..." He turned his head at the Engineer dressed as a Soldier and added in a mocking tone. "and also a hardhat break his not-so-hard head while tryin' ta rocket-jump."

The Texan accepted the refusal with absolute understanding but didn't hesitate on wrecking his last expectation in a utterly serious tone.

"Son, I got a killstreak of 57 with this rocket launcher in a randomize server. I ain't gonna break my head."

"Whaaaaaaaat?!" Scout exclaimed stupefied. Adding dramatic effect to the moment, a piece of cake rolled out of his mouth, as open wide as it was, and dropped down to the floor in a ridiculous wet sound.

Engie could only but to erupt into laughter at his reaction. The kid's face was so preciously funny.

"Hey, hey! Stop laughin'!" The younger man complained and after setting the cake aside, he crossed his arms. "The team always says I'm all mouth but the only one all mouth I see here is you. Ya can't laugh if ya don't prove it, man! So prove it, man!"

"Do ya want me to prove it?" He titled his head, boosting the renewed challenge.

"Yes, Mister Rocket-Engie!" Scout squinted his eyes in theatrical distrust.

"Then, you got it, buddy." The Texan replied in a chuckle.

Following next, his whole body language changed from nonchalant to complete professionalism.

The self-declared rocket-jumper expert closed his eyes and adopted a steadier posture. Legs slightly crouched, upper body naturally balanced, hands firmly clutched around the weapon of relevance. A distant muscle memory coming to him like if it had been yesterday.

Externally, this Engie might had given the impression that he was calm and collected about what he was going to do.

That impression couldn't be more wrong.

His heart was racing in his ribcage, threatening to escape from the excitement he was feeling, and he couldn't shut up a hysterical joyful voice in his head.

HE WAS GOING TO ROCKET-JUMP AGAIN! After all those years! As a free man! He was here! He was here now!

His body was demanding him to not delay it anymore but he forced himself to resolve his unfinished business.

"Scout." Engie called for the boy's attention. The Bostonian's gaze was directed at him but he was clearly not really looking at him.

"Yeah?" Scout replied focusing on the present. "What do ya want? Do ya wanna chicken? It's okay if ya wanna chicken, Engie. I'd never chicken but ya can." He teased him with his mouth full to the limit of the impossible, half cake already gone.

"Nah. I ain't gonna chicken, kid. I only wanted to share with ya that the Spawn room has become an open code source. Ya can model any inanimate object ya want inside."

Scout gave him an expression of not having understood anything of what he had explained.

"Kid, you can summon whatever ya're thinkin' in the Spawn room if ya concentrate hard enough. Ya can summon a special baseball ball or comics ya've read or a sofa." Engie put in simple words.

"What? For real? Ya ain't kiddin'?" The younger mercenary asked more enthusiastically than any of his previous displays, if that was even possible, and stood up in what could only be defined as a spasmodic jump.

"I swear it for this cowboy's honor." The Texan nodded in ratification but added in a thoughtful tone. "It's important ya visualize all the details though. If ya don't give texture or taste to a food, it won't have it. Don't fill the Spawn room with useless stuff, okay?"

"Don't worry! I'll fill it with useful stuff. I bet it. I promise it. I swear it. Thank ya, man! Oh! Ya're the best, Rocket-Engie! A genius!" He assured him faster than the tinkerer could process half of what he was saying and continued rambling about how grateful he was.

That hyperactive rampage wasn't mentally healthy. Not for him, not for whoever dare to attempt to follow what he was spilling out of his mouth.

Someone had to put a halt to the radioactive Soda supplies of this kid.

But that someone wasn't going to be him.

In the middle of Scout's endless chatter, the Engie-Soldier took a deep breath and isolated himself from the living world. With the faithful determination of a man who has no qualms about gambling his life, he took a run-up and gave the farewells to the BLU base in a rocket-jump.

Pain burst through his legs and he flied.

He flied and tasted freedom.

His singular freedom.

During the second he was suspended in the air, his mind retroceded in time to that glorious killstreak that had turned upside down his mindset, that had shown him true devastating power, that had opened his eyes to the beauty of this virtual world from the highest spot the skybox allowed.

As he landed, his memories of the past faded away and had to react quickly to avoid eating the bridge with his face, or worse.

He regained his balance on the run as inertia pulled him forwards.

A grin plastered on his face. A immense overjoyed grin.

_"I'm here! I'm here now!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your impressions about the characters so far. Which are your favourites ones? Which ones would you want to learn more about? How did I do with this Engie and Scout? Any advice about the accents?


	9. Binary intuition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. This chapter turned out painfully slow to write.  
> Some serious secrets are starting to be hinted in this chapter.

Two rifles, a crossbow, a revolver, a rocket launcher, a spinning minigun and an agitated BLU Soldier with his fits up were threateningly aimed at that bizarre mix of mercenary, half dressed as an Engineer and a Soldier.

Confusing thoughts swirled around their heads as the outlandish Texan raised up his hands in peace, setting down his rocket launcher, and a guilty smile was drawn on his lip.

Perhaps, he should have thought it twice before performing such an entrance.

Meh... He hadn't been shot. So no big hole in the fence... or in his chest... yet.

"That Engie is a Spy!" The young crazy American shouted out as a reflex. Then, he made a befuddled face and corrected himself. "That Soldier is an Engie!" However, as those words escaped his mouth, he theatrically rubbed his chin in suspiciousness and digressed in a lower tone. "Or is that Engie, a Soldier? Or is he a Spy disguised as an Engie who is also wearing a Soldier's uniform? Or maybe, that Engie is, in fact, a shorter Soldier but-"

"Solly, I'm an Engie with a Soldier's loadout." The peculiar Texan clarified for the group in a flat tone.

"That's what a Spy would say!" The other wildly spat back with his index finger pointed at him and in doing so, he jumped a step towards him.

After awaiting for a couple of seconds an order that never came, BLU Soldier turned his head back to the frozen commander behind him and so did the rest of the team, slightly confused.

The RED veteran was standing visibly stiff, squinting into the Engineer's direction. His face reflected a troubled expression with a tint of wary fear and his gaze seemed to be lost into the aura around the tinkerer, rather than into his physical embodiment. Moreover, one of his hands was clenched into a fist and it palpitated like if it was following the rhythm of an imaginary song.

It was obvious he had spaced out again but this time, his unsettling body language made the whole group feel uneasy.

Cautiously, Heavy approached him and waved a hand in front of his eyes.

The RED American didn't react.

After that absence of response, the Russian's glance alternated through each one of the ground floor mercenaries' faces, sharing a concerned expression.

"Oi think the commander broke..." The RED Sniper whispered to Spy in an attempt of a joke, but his mood was clearly too perturbed to sound humorous. In reply, the Frenchman gave him an unamused expression.

In the meanwhile, and contrarily to the rest of the team, the Solly-Engie's worries sprouted from a different root.

The RED Soldier was trying to access the encrypted folders of his code.

Or at least, the origin of the code that was clashing against his firewalls belong to the American veteran.

The readings he was receiving were too fast to be typed manually and too erratic to be part of a prewritten programme. If he didn't know better, the Texan would have bet that a bot was turning the Soldier's sheer will into digital commands.

Additionally, the focus of the attacking code was completely random. The best analogy to describe what was happening would be a man palpating in the dark, trying to get to know his surroundings but at the same time, tenaciously decided to find something he wasn't even sure it was there.

It was utterly disconcerting.

From the balcony of the BLU base, before approaching the group, Engie had given their profiles a quick check thereby, he was aware of how old this Soldier was. What he had never possibly imagined was for this elder American to develop such a symbiosis with the very foundations of this virtual world. The phenomenon he was witnessing right now was something he had only heard theorize by other Engineers some years ago and as far as he knew, nobody had actually encountered anything remotely close.

It was beyond utterly disconcerting.

Fortunately for him, Engie didn't have to take any actions because Heavy softly shook the RED Soldier's shoulder returning him to the present moment. The attacking code ceased at the same precise second that the commander blinked stunned at the Russian who, from his point of view, had apparently teleported to his side.

"Is there something wrong?" The big guy asked him softly once he finally got the other man's attention and avoided sounding as disquiet as he felt.

The RED veteran furrowed and opened his mouth to share whatever he had in his mind but he reconsidered before saying anything, sharply closing it again. Then, hiding away the hazy omen he somehow had glimpsed through the Engie's essence, he exclaimed in a joyful spirit.

"Absolutely nothing, comrade!" He patted the Heavy's back as a comforting gesture but it had the completely opposite effect for the man who was intended for. Following next, the senior American rubbed his beard in fake thoughts and proceeded to deviate the conversation. "Well... If you don't consider having one of the RED Spawns on fire, of course."

"On wot!?" Both Sniper's exclaimed at the same time with different levels of voice volume, which curiously, were directly proportional to their respective proximity to those aforementioned Spawn rooms.

In the other hand, Spy kept his thoughts to himself but nonetheless, he warily glanced at both of the balcony's corridors, not quite accepting straight away the veteran's words but neither disregarding them.

"And you know zhat because...?" Medic rolled his eyes, rather sceptical.

"My binary intuition whispers it to me." The commander disclosed with him in a casual tone, as it was an everyday occurrence for him.

After seeing what he saw, Engie didn't question the validity of that assertion, not even for a second. Nevertheless, he shared no words with them. Instead, he wondered, up to which degree, the RED Soldier was conscious of what he had attempted against him.

This Soldier was a terrifying variable. The Texan would have to keep an eye on him.

"<Of course... I don't even know why I bothered to ask...>" The doctor grumbled lowly in German but his tone had more of annoyance to it than disbelief.

Fervent in his loyalty and respect towards his fake superior, the BLU American was going to make a zealous remark against Medic when Spy cleared his throat, as loudly as he could, and tried to get them back at the business at hand.

"Gentlemen! Now zhat it has become clear zhat zhere is no need for our guns, I believe our dear _labourer_ owns us an apology for his rather _explosive_ entrance."

As mentioned before, "tried" was the key word of this situation.

"Holy Mary, mother of Joseph!" The younger Soldier tilted up his helmet to acknowledge, for the first time, that there was an unmasked Spy on the balcony.

That vision triggered an small mental short-circuit in his disused brain cells. Although he was quickly to recover with an enthusiastic exclamation. "It was about time you stop hiding behind that grungy mask, you rifle-droppin' coward! Real soldiers don't hide their faces from the goddess of war. They don't have that benefit! Not even despite how ugly their crouton faces might be." He chuckled. "Ho, ho! The toymaker here has also stopped playing with his toys and decided to use instead a real weapon for once. I'm proud of you, sissies! You all bunch of ladies are finally manning up!" He vigorously slapped the Solly-Engie in the back and almost sent him to the ground. Immediately after, he wrapped an arm under the shorter man's armpit, slightly lifting him in some kind of victorious pose, and sentenced heartily. "The secret enemies of America stand no chance against us, commander!"

"The secret enemies of America? Commander?" Engie murmured to the apparent saner men, a bit anxious about what this BLU was rambling about and the unwanted physical contact.

First, he almost got shot. Then, an ancient mercenary tried to hack him and now, gibberish was being spoken.

Perhaps, he REALLY should have thought it twice before performing such an entrance.

"Long story. Just roll with it." The Russian quietly replied with an apologetic expression and Engie could only but to give him an astound face for that idiom the mountain of a man had just pulled off. It looked like that not only most of his accent was gone, that decade had also contributed to improve his grasp of the English language.

"Indeed, son! Every new incorporation to our cause is one step forwards our success." The RED self-named commander emphatically put but then, he adopted a less rigorous stance. "You should release this BLU Engineer. An apology, as Spy has suggested, is in order. "

"Oh, yes..." His BLU doppelganger partially realised the excessive passion of his enthusiasm and bashfully let go the poor Texan.

Well, poor Texan wouldn't be the appropriate term. He was plenty responsible for the mess he had gotten himself into.

"And I personally vould like to know vhere he got zhe Soldier equipment!" Medic unashamedly requested, standing on tiptoes behind the American leader. He had plastered all over his face one of his typical psychotic thrilled grins, which most likely meant nothing pleasant for neither of them, regardless if he got an answer or not.

Happy to be standing by his own, the Solly-Engie removed his paratrooper helmet. Then, he undid his ponytail, allowing his hair to breath and sighed.

"My intention was never to scare ya. I-" He began excusing himself but BLU Soldier energetically interrupted him.

"Scaring this one man army is IM-PO-SSI-" The RED veteran was scarily fast to silence him with an elbow to the gut. "Argh..." His younger version moaned in complain but got the hint and shut up.

After the scene was done, the Texan made some kind of huffed chuckle and restarted.

"Goin' back to what I was sayin'. Sorry if I put y'all on edge. I got carried away by the whole situation we're experiencin'." He threw a glance to the BLU Soldier not sure how much he should divulge. "I reckon y'all understand me." There was a general nodding from the other mercenaries. "It's been a damn long time since I rocket-jumped and I didn't stop to think that y'all will take me for a threat. In retrospective, maybe I shoulda thought it through twice..." He chuckled to ease the mood. "It looks like these Soldier's clothes are turnin' me reckless. I oughta be careful about that." He joked and then, alluded to Medic's request. "Hey! But at least, I brought good news, fellas! Did y'all know that ya can summon whatever ya wanna in a Spawn room? Not only class weapons or Valve cosmetics." He emphasized that last part brushing his hair with his fingers. "I'm talkin' about food, furniture, tools! I only created a chocolate cake for a Scout but the possibilities are almost limitless!"

Almost limitless.

Those words echoed inside the minds of the assembled mercenaries, generating a second wave of contained euphoria.

They could have most of their little whims satisfied.

A brand-new laboratory? Granted!

A collection of first-edition Russian classics? Granted!

The most expensive wine and cigarettes in the world? Granted!

The most powerful rocket-launcher America ever designed? Granted!

His van? Their van? It was worth a shot!

 

The only one who seemed not to share their elation was the elder RED Soldier.

Naturally, he knew all along.

And he had deliberately hidden this piece of information from them.

Because he had a very good idea how those trampled insane men would react.

 

One of Medic's foot was already lifted up from the ground, ready to initiate a frenetic race towards the nearest Spawn room and claimed it as his own, when a thunderous blast ousted them from their fantasies.

By that deafening noise, the base's piping might as well have exploded because water was leaking from one of the balcony's corridor.

What the hell had been that explosion?

 

The commander restrained a smile. He couldn't have asked for a better timing.

"Breaking news, men. The RED Spawn is no longer on fire."


	10. 22 PhDs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Me* This chapter should be simple I have in mind a very defined beginning and end. I will also skip a fragment in the beginning to go directly to the most interesting parts.
> 
> *Also me* Dedicating a whole page for character description.  
> *Also me* Turning the supposedly idle chit-chat into revealing crucial dialogue for the plot.  
> *Also me* Making whole paragraphs of internal character self-reflection.
> 
> *Final me* Well... I broke my record again. 3300 words. Enjoy!
> 
> *Superfinal me* 10 chapters - 45 Word pages -24.000 words and am I still introducing characters? T_T  
> I WANT TO REACH THE SECOND ARC OF THE STORY ALREADY!  
> Thanks God there are only 3 more introductory chapters and then I can start with the fluff, humor and angst part.
> 
> *Future me* Don't hurry the Second arc, you don't have it completely planned yet!

"Why in Sam Hill did ya do that?" The RED Engie asked, horrified, to the other RED Engineer standing in front of him.

Without any apparent reason, the other Texan had just released his wrench, walked towards him from the other side of the room with an unreadable expression in his face, stolen an innocent and perfectly fine beer from his Rancho Relaxo, gave it a long swig and then, threw it against one of the RED's intel safety glass.

The legitimate owner had only been able to turn his head around to witness the unfortunate victim exploding into several pieces from the impact and splashing its content all over the glass and floor.

"'Cause I can." His doppelganger responded with a psychotic sharp-minded grin and a deep throaty tone that unsettlingly carried a sinister humour.

That wasn't how Engineers were supposed to sound like.

The aggravated Texan frowned at his partner in profession and examined him in more detail, slowly propping himself up from the commodity of his lawn chair.

The offender was wearing a Tin-1000, a metallic version of their default hardhat, and the lenses of his goggles, which were bolted to the hat, were seemingly glowing in synchrony with the chest plate of his Iron Lung metallic vest, creating a creepy unnatural red gleam. Complementing his cyborg appearance, his left leg had also been replaced by the Roboot, a robotic prosthetic, similar in style design to the Gunslinger.

Although, what it really stripped him from the amicable attitude of the common Engineer was his atypical body language. This metallic man held himself in a hostile pose, slightly crouched and visibly surly, ready to use violence without any apprehension. Paradoxically, he also seemed to be  enjoying the present situation but on his own terrible, twisted way.

It was clear that this mercenary was nothing like the humble friendly canon Engineer he was.

Peculiarly, the mad Texan's train of thoughts shared the same overall nature of his alternative version but his impressions were completely the opposite.

He believed that this naive Engie couldn't be more cliché.

The fake cowboy, to whom the Rancho Relaxo belonged, was wearing a Texas Ten Gallon hat and a Teddy Roosebelt was snugly fit into his ammo pouch. The only cosmetic that could be considered slightly original was the Tools of the Trade, a vest with straps, brass buckles and a series of tools; but from the insane Engineer's point of view, it made him look even more mundane.

However, what really instigated his most deepest revulsion was that samaritan aura he emanated. He loathed that gentle concerned expression the other was wearing, like he was actually worried about him. He was so young and therefore, so blind, that he was spending these precious seconds analysing his "Texan pardner" with the aim of fixing him, instead of appreciating the extraordinary circumstances they were living.

It was clear that this mercenary was nothing but the incarnation of the stereotypical canon Engineer.

The cyborg genius profoundly pitied and envied him, both at the same time.

Despite supposedly sharing the same basal code, neither of them could recognize himself in the man in front of him.

After the moment of judgmental contemplation was over, the belligerent Engineer materialized a Frontier Justice from nowhere and began shooting the previous safety glass as he advanced in its direction with resolute steps. When the three initial shots only let behind a disappointing web of scarred marks, he reloaded his shotgun and fired again at completely point-blank without even blinking in the process. He frustratingly obtained a similar result, being unsuccessful to break the window glass.

A sane man would have given up.

This Engineer wasn't a sane man.

He unloaded two more rounds of ammunition against the not-so-anymore transparent invincible opponent, laughing like an evil maniac. There was no way to tell if he was infuriated or delighted at doing so. His laugh was too degenerated to properly distinguish his emotions.

When it finally became obvious that bullets were completely fruitless, the psychotic Texan magically switched for a few violent swings to his wrench until he stopped, at last, with a final head bump.

The window was tremendously scarred but against basic laws of physics, it had no apparent intentions of breaking down as logic demanded.

For a few seconds, the silence returned to the intel room only disturbed by the high pitched beeps of their sentries.

 _"He needs more gun."_ The humble Engie thought to himself, after being unable to lift his eyes from the degenerated gun show of that savage.

"I need more gun." The hostile Texan grumbled out loud and turned away from the unbeatable glass, theatrically hoisting a Wrangler over his head.

After all, they weren't that different.

When the demented Engineer reached a prudent distance, he activated the secondary weapon and pointed the aiming dot of his sentry to the most affected area of the glass. Then, he pushed the button of its joystick and admired how his lovely killing machine fired rockets and bullets against the offending piece of glass that refused to be shattered.

This time, he didn't laugh. He enjoyed the vision of the impacts, the noise of the explosions and the smell of gunpowder with a lopsided sly smile. An smile to which the wholesome Engie found himself surprisingly relating to.

After a long minute of ceaseless shooting, the sentry ran out of ammo but the glass remained unbroken, completely opaque white by the endless internal cracks, but unbroken.

The friendly Engie expected his insane counterpart to go into an brutal rampage as he did in the beginning. But instead, the other man raised his gaze to a specific point in the ceiling and stared at it for some unsettling long seconds, like if a higher entity was speaking to him.

And, as a matter of fact, it was.

The cyborg mercenary shrugged pretty disconcertingly, dropped his Wrangler and grabbed a new beer as he walked off of the intel room without saying a word. However, when he reached the doorframe, he detected an odd tingling in the pit of his stomach that prevented him from taking another step.

What was that annoying feeling?

No... It couldn't be...

No...

...

Fuck! It was!

After all he had gone through... How in the damn bloody hell could he still care for others? Especially for that sanctimonious Engie?

He attempted to fight back that vestige from a forgotten man when his voice of consciousness assaulted him.

_"He's stupidly oblivious. Ya can't leave him alone. He needs guidance. Your guidance."_

_"Shut up! You died! I buried ya long ago!"_

_"It ain't that easy to kill Dell Conagher, son. I'm a resilient mother hubbard."_

The surly Engineer wanted to slowly choke to death that self-righteous voice in his head but in the end, he resigned himself and asked in a idle tone, hiding from the other man the exasperation of his own feelings.

"Are ya gonna stay here all day or are ya commin' to explore, boy?"

The mercenary being questioned frowned in slight confusion. Had the other Texan just invited him, in his own raving way, to joining him?

He stopped to consider it for a second. If he let him go alone, he would be a danger for himself and anyone who encounter him.

He threw him a miffed glare before responding.

"I'm commin'. But ya better not call me boy, pardner." He said showing a glimpse of his own temper and walked by his side as they abandoned the intel room. "I don't like it a bit and we're the same _physical_ man with the same age." He emphasized that last part because despite sharing a similar body, they clearly had different personalities.

The insane Engineer snickered.

"No, we ain't. Ya're 1 year, 6 months and 11 days and I'm 8 years, 1 month and 29 days. Ya're still a kid for this world's standards."

The younger hardhat looked at him baffled by the confidence of his tone. It almost gave the impression that he was reading the dates from somewhere.

"Don't tell me ya haven't figured out yet how to access digital profiles?" He made a pause. "By that face. No, ya haven't." He chuckled at his expense and the cordial Texan didn't appreciate it. "Ya're slower than the average Engineer. Too much brains and lil' hunches." He mocked him again but at the other's bad face and twitchy fingers, he added. "I don't feel sorry for ya but I'll give ya a tip 'cause ya might not get the chance to learn it by yourself. Feel my silhouette and reach for it. Mentally. Don't be worth spittin' over by touchin' me with your hands or I'll gladly smack ya."

The amicable cowboy seriously put in doubt the veracity of that advice but he sighed, as the other drank from his beer, and gave it a try.

As a result, a considerable big tap opened in one side of his visual field. It had a similar nature to the player's taps, because it stayed fixed on the same spot despite moving his head around, but the colours and style were completely different. It was elementarily basic, with a black background and an rudimentary white word type, suggesting that nobody had dedicated half a second to make it look visually attractive.

He quickly scanned the information on it and then, reached for his own profile to compare the differences.

At noticing the other mercenary's focused expression, the mean Engineer derided him with a sarcastic tone.

"Ya did it! Congratulations! Ya ain't as dumb as I thought."

The new enlightened Texan instantly closed all the taps and gave his senior counterpart a piercing glare.

The nice Engie was aware that his class possessed an intellect way superior than the average population but he had always done his best to carry that gift with utter modesty. In any other circumstances, by any other mercenary, he would have not even feel a pinch of anything at being called dumb. That insult would have neatly ricocheted against his infinitive patience and solid self-esteem without leaving any trace behind. However, in the present moment, being ridiculed by this detestable individual, who was possibly the only man on digital Earth that could outsmart him and was clearly more familiarized with this world than him, made him want to punch him in the face. Several times.

Through the years, the rude Texan had developed this personal satisfaction in pushing other people's buttons to the limit. What in past times had served him as a useful tool to empathize with his coworkers, now he used the power of his observant skills to enflame other men's emotions for his own wicked delight. One might believe that due to being mentally unstable, he couldn't recognize what a restrained furious face look like but that wasn't true, in particular if it was his furious restrained face. He would have never confessed it but, he was only elongating this tense moment in hopes of extinguish that rebel speck of compassion that he had felt moments before.

Honestly, he didn't desire to start a fight. At least, not right now. If the corrupted update allowed it, he would have plenty of time to go berserk later after having access to better weapons.

The disrespectful cyborg snickered again but strangely, extended an olive branch.

"Mercenaries' profile ain't the only thing ya can inspect. Objects and weapons also have info taps and if ya use your gut feelin', ya might be able to access the world's code. But I don't recommend it right now. It'll just confused the shit outta ya with all the mutating code that's going on. Not a great startin' point for learnin' elementary programmin'."

"Mutatin' code? What d'ya mean by that?" The polite cowboy inquired doing his best to not sound completely lost.

"Today's update really fucked up our virtual world. We ain't supposed to move by ourselves. It has never been allowed it before by any other update. This is the first time in the game's history that we can walk by our own. Drink by our own." He took a long swig from the beer and smashed it against the wall when he finished it. "Destroy by our own." He laughed sinisterly joyful. "Someone corrupted the new update to be introduced in the superficial code of the game and it's mutatin' our digital environment at any decision we take. By interactin' with the things around us, demandin' them to behave in way they never did before, we're instinctively rewritin' this reality. And I can tell ya, 'cause I know plenty of this programmin' shit, that the universe's code is already startin' to look very ugly."

Incapable of explaining exactly why, the gentle Engie had assumed that being able to suddenly move freely was some type of usual event for updates. He didn't properly remember any other major update as today's one so he lacked any prior reference to compare to his current experience. The name of Jungle Inferno rang a bell in the back of his mind but he couldn't tell with absolute certainty if he had been born by then or not.

In fact, he couldn't remember either his first battle or when exactly he had started realising that he wasn't the one commanding his body. The farther he tried to remember, the blurrier everything became. It was like he had been slowly waking up from a dream. A dream where he had being tossed around like a puppet without being self-aware of the complete picture. Being frank, he still felt like he was half asleep.

How hadn't he thought before about anything related to what his elder version had mentioned? If he had accepted that they were made by code, that they were artificial intelligences. Why hadn't he  tried to inspect that code before? It sounded so painstakingly obvious in retrospective.

Clearly, his perception of this reality was being heavily clouded by something beyond his comprehension but at least now, he was cognizant of the tremendous unknown bias he carried. It was a step towards progress.

Challenging himself to be more thorough, the modest Engie carefully mulled over each one of the words he had been told, trying to formulate a reply of the same intellectual level.

"Wouldn't that rewritin' eventually lead to the general collapse of the game? We're prone to leave errors behind and at each edition we trigger, the complexity of the world's code will increase. Even if the game proofreads itself, it'll reach a point when the code will make no sense." He hypothesised rather concerned.

"Most likely. But I couldn't give any less of a damn." The brutish Texan eerily chuckled and shrugged. "This digital free world is gonna go down with our participation or without it. Either by the degeneration of the corrupted update or by the successful reset of Valve's servers. Whatever comes first and I recommend ya to make the most of it, 'cause we might not have a second chance ever again."

The affable Engie stared at his mad counterpart.

This alternative version of Dell Conagher was profoundly mentally disturbed. His husky tone, the aggressive choose of words, his psychotic ecstatic outbursts, the hostile manner he carried himself, the eerie flickering behind his goggle's lenses, his smile. His unsettlingly creepy smile.

All of them were little indications of how severely had he drifted apart from his original personality.

And despite them all, here he was. Giving him some genuine advice.

Here he was. Being thoughtful with another human being. Or virtual human being to be precise.

Was it real or was he projecting his own humanity on his inhumane counterpart?

"And here we are!" The insane Engineer exclaimed once they arrived at the gates of the RED Spawn's room, the one next to the corridor that connected with the balcony.

He stopped one exact step before the door's automatic detector and added with a mischievous smirk.

"Infants first." He waved his arm, inviting him to get into.

The sound cowboy huffed, irritated, but nevertheless, took the lead and walked forwards.

He should have never been that trusting.

The moment the roller shutter was lifted up, an unexpected inferno burst out of the Spawn's room and engulfed them both with its excruciating fire.

The friendly Engie was efficiently fast in his reaction and backtracked his last step, allowing the entrance to be shut down again. Immediately after, he threw himself to the ground and rolled his body in frenetic fear to put out his burning clothes.

Fortunately or strangely, the fire didn't spread to the potentially very flammable wood and straw around them and after some dreading seconds, the cordial Engie managed to doused himself. It was then, while recovering from the fright, that he finally acknowledged the nasty guffaw of the other Texan.

With a enraged grunt, he searched for him with his eyes and horror joined his anger at finding him.

The psychotic Engineer was still on fire, laughing like the maniac he was, without giving the minimal impression of the pain that he was enduring. As if the flames were just an illusion floating around him, he kept burning for a couple of more seconds until the fire inexplicably extinguished itself.

"Rule number 1: Always examine info taps before interactin'." The crazy Texan explained in a condescending tone and passed next to his younger version as he put some distance from the Spawn's door.

"Ya big son of a bitch! Where d'ya think are ya goin'?" The not-so-cordial-anymore Engie snarled at his nuts counterpart and got up to his all four.

The lunatic cyborg snickered again in that particular provoking way the other hated so much and facing the Spawn's room, he crouched his body in a racer pose.

"To hell and heaven, boy." He excitedly replied with a terrifying grin from ear to ear.

Following next and without any additional explanation, the crazy Texan rushed at full speed towards the Spawn's room, armed only with his delirious laughter for a battle cry.

As the tentacles of fire broke loose again, the sane Engie could only but to rapidly crawl backwards to put himself out of the range of the jumping blazes and witness in slow motion how that mad man willingly dove into the scorching hell.

Instantly after that psychopath was swallowed up by the flames, a metallic thunderous blast deafened the kind cowboy and a tsunami materialized from inside of the Spawn's room, generating a wave of water that pushed him against the opposite wall.

Straw, wood planks and pieces of shattered glass were carried along with him and he bumped against them all. As the water escaped away through every open entrance, a meaty object also impacted against the inferior part of his body but it wasn't until he was set on the floor again, that he realised that a RED Pyro had been also spat out with the sudden flood.

The gentle Engie coughed up some water, that had accidentally gotten into his lungs, and at lifting his eyes, they met with his daredevil counterpart.

His demented version was triumphantly standing at the interior edge of the Spawn's room with some kind of metallic turtle shell attached to his back. Four shinny canon sprouted out of the device, two over his shoulder and two around his thigh, and water was visibly dripping from them as if they had been recently used.

He was soaked from head to toe but it didn't seem to matter to him because his goggle's lenses were shinning with an intense spine-chilling red glow and he was smiling with a hideously evolved version of his regular terrifying grin.

For a second, the calm sound of water slowly leaking was the only thing that filled the silence.

Until the demoniacal cyborg broke it.

"I'M A GOD!" He proclaimed in a delighted roar worthy of the insane genius he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have assigned some songs to this chapter's characters. Enjoy listening to them, I believe they are pretty appropiate.
> 
> Insane Engineer: Sin Shake Sin - Can't Go To Hell  
> https://youtu.be/R2ct_Gkq-HQ
> 
> Polite Engie: Chicken Fried - Zac Brown Band  
> https://youtu.be/re91PZpPYGY


	11. We aren't them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know that beautiful time of the year called Christmas when you are supposed to enjoy some peaceful free time?
> 
> Yeah... Not for me.
> 
> Sorry for the delay. This chapter hasn't been proofread yet by my betareader so if you find some mistakes, tell me, please.
> 
> Just to let you know, Pyro isn't written to be understood. You can guess what they are saying by the other character's replies to their words. Pyro will also be mentioned as "they" by the narrator but the mercenaries will refer to the firebug as "he". I wanted to use "he, she and they" for Pyro at the same time due to something that will happen further in the plot but I thought it would be too confusing for the readers, so I stuck to the neutral pronoun. 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The RED Pyro was happily jogging across the most gorgeous field of Pyroland and all of the sudden, they weren't anymore.

The firebug blinked completely shocked by the drastic change in scenarios. Where had all the cotton candy hills and lollipop trees gone? Why had Balloonicorn disappeared at half conversation?

It took them a moment or two to recognize where they were.

The dim lighted room where they found themselves sprawled on was ugly, very ugly. It reminded them of that nice base everyone called Teufort but this one was creepier, much creepier.

AND IT WAS WET, VERY WET!

Why was everything wet? The walls were wet! The floor was wet! The ceiling was wet! There were puddles and pools of water all around.

Pyro looked down at their gloved hands. THEY WERE SOAKED!

The vision of their fire's archenemy began to help them understand what had happened...

Someone had casted their precious rainbows away with that atrocious liquid. Someone had expelled them from the idyllic world of Pyroland and forced them into this horrendous base. Someone had taken from them, and without any warnings, the only place where they felt safe and self-fulfilled, where they could deliver happiness to everyone.

But who would be so vile to do such a thing?

The delighted roar of the insane Engineer gave them the answer.

With craving denial, the little fire starter lifted their head at the direction of that voice.

Dark pitch black lenses locked into red glowing ones.

...

No...

NO, NO, NO! NOOO!

That man couldn't be an Engie!

Engies were kind! Engies were gentle! Engies were their friend and they would never be that mean to them!

An Engie felt like a warm sunset, admired from the cosy rocking chair of an old wood house's porch.

An Engie smelt like sweet pancakes at first hour in the morning.

An Engie sounded like a soft guitar song, enjoyed through the special distortion of a car radio.

 

That man wasn't nothing like any of those marvellous phenomenons.

 

That man felt like an angry thunderstorm of acid rain.

That man smelt like a rotten lemon, forgotten at the back of the fridge.

That man sounded like the hideous shriek of a mad animal.

Pyro could perceive the toxic pool of emotions that swirled inside that metal man. There was so much spite, so much anger, so much animosity...  But against first impressions, there was also so much pain, so much loneliness, so much despair.

What had they done to their lovely Engie? What had they done to that poor soul?

They didn't dare to peek more deeply into that Texan's corrupted essence. It was heartbreaking enough to watch their best friend reduce to such a broken individual.

The firebug stood up, trembling from the sadness that the sight of that man produced them. There were tears at the edge of their eyes.

They wanted to run away as far as possible from his grisly aura. They wanted to hug Balloonicorn while enjoying the most beautiful rainbow of all times. They wanted to tell themselves that all Engies were good-hearted and that horrendous man had never existed. They wanted to...

No! They could not allow themselves to be weak. Not when their friend needed them!

Someone or something had done that to that hapless Engie and there had to be a way to turn him back to what he used to be. To restore the sweetness that it was rightfully his.

Maybe... Maybe if Pyro showed him kindness again, showed him that he wasn't as lonely as he believed he was, that their friendship was stronger that whatever evils menaced his troubled mind.

A lollipop! A gigantic lollipop was a fantastic initial gift to build bridges again between them!

The gentle Engie watched how the RED Pyro materialized a Powerjack and advanced with wobbly but regular steps toward his mad counterpart.

By their body language, he could tell that the firebug was terrified but he could also discern, that their fighting spirit was visibly stronger than their fear. The motives of their daring confrontation were foreign to him but they looked determined to not be intimidated, not even after the tsunami the crazy Texan had inexplicably spawned.

The insolent Engineer read on the Asbestos suited mercenary the same array of emotions than his younger version. However, it spited him not to find any anger on them after his brutish water attack. Why hadn't that Pyro reacted more violently? He wanted them to be furious with him.

 _"Is that what ya really wanna? I reckoned ya wantin' a hug."_ Dell's voice mocked him inside his mind.

The demented Texan huffed to no one in particular.

"Ready for yer second rodeo?" He fleered the Pyro and pivoted into a boxing stance. He was meticulously careful, though, to keep every inch of his body inside of the Spawn room. "Come and get me, mumbles!" He snickered.

"Urr dum mant uh fmphght yum Enmgy, plusmh. Yum ahn muh frumph. Rembmher?" They uttered softly, without changing their walking speed. Despite of their muffled words, their tone came out through their gas mask impregnated of a crystal clear sorrow.

The firebug's emotional pain felt like a punch on the stomach for the disdainful cyborg, who instead of letting their feelings genuinely reach him, he recycled them into anger.

"Ya ain't my friend, mumbles. Ya never were!" He spat back scornfully.

When the fire lover attempted to take another step closer, he merciless gushed them with high pressurized water from his canons, sending them across the room again. Their Powerjack/lollipop escaped from their gloved hands as they accidentally loosen their grip on the weapon/candy.

The amicable Engie rushed to aid Pyro the second he saw the water cannons being activated. He was ready to shield them with his own body if his psychotic counterpart decided to further take it on them but no more streams were fired upon them. The maniacal guffaw of the mad mercenary resonated shortly against the walls but oddly this time, his laugh sounded bitterer in comparison with his previous one.

The polite Texan knelt next to the firebug and helped them sit upright. At noticing the kind touch of an honest hardhat, Pyro hugged him tidily, restraining themselves from sobbing. They were shivering from helplessness and dejection.

"Mpeh-Mpeh duhumn lhe mhe gehlp mhim..." They stammered woefully.

"He doesn't deserve your help, Py." The gentle Engie whispered sympathetically and rubbed their back to comfort them, holding back his own anger. "Nor that there's somethin' we can do. He's far beyond the point of salvation."

"Ooh... Woulda ya look at that glurgy scene?" The mentally unstable Texan derided them in a cynical tone.

His younger counterpart took a deep breath to avoid entering into his provocation but got immediately alarmed when Pyro suddenly relaxed on his arms. He feared for a second that the firebug would have lost consciousness, until he turned his head to check on the other Engineer.

The man was holding a cigar between his lips and almost touching it, there was a small flame, seemingly dancing on the tip of his index finger. His hand was covered by a black glove he hadn't been wearing before and when he perceived the fire lover's reaction to his stupid whim, the focus of his mind gave the impression of drifting away. His smirk remained static on his face but it was evident that he wasn't actively upholding it.

The tiny rainbow the surly Engineer had created transformed the world around Pyro. They still could recognize that they were in the same base, but the lighting wasn't creepy anymore. The ugly gloomy green was replaced by a soft pink and glitter began dripping from the ceiling. The change was subtle but welcomed by the firebug.

They also noticed something else.

The mean Texan had actually two storms inside him.

The strongest was the one they had identified earlier, the angry thunderstorm of acid rain, but there was also another one. This second storm was dry and ancient and was keeping the main one in line, countering its icy wind when needed. It was resilient too, like Dell was.

Although Pyro only liked the storms from Pyroland, they smiled hopefully at the warm discovery.

 

 _"It's takin' ya an awful long time to quench that flame, son."_ For a voice in his head, it was incredibly frustrating how the smile in Dell's tone was so painfully obvious.

_"Woulda ya shut up for once?!"_

_"We both know that a different idea crossed your mind. Despite ya rejectin' it."_

_"I don't know what ya're talkin' about."_

_"Yeah, ya do. Don't deny it, son."_ How could Dell sigh, while not possessing an actual body, was beyond him. " _Why is so damn difficult to offer Pyro the flame? He'll surely appreciate it. Maybe forgive ya."_

_"Ya can take a seat and wait for it 'cause I ain't gonna do that."_

_"Why? 'Cause ya might seem polite? Soft? Weak? Pyro used to be your friend."_

_"My friends, my real friends, the ones I made, not the ones Valve put in my head, GOT ERASED! MARK GOT ERASED! HANS GOT ERASED! LEONARD GOT ERASED! Is it reminder enough or do ya want me to continue with the list?"_

Dell didn't reply.

Silencing him should have made him feel victorious.

But somehow...

It didn't.

It felt painful. Like everything else.

For a second, the kind Engie would have bet that his counterpart's hand was shaking. His facial expression still remained frozen but his hand...

Without any telltale sign, the flame was extinguished as the insane Texan clenched his hand into a fist. The trembling instantly vanished and his terrifying grin slowly returned to his lips.

"Right about time for the cavalry to arrive." He snickered, looking at the corridor's direction.

Then, he idly blew out some smoke. His cigar remained immobile in the air, levitating, as he did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyro's song:  
> These Eyes by Model Music (Ben Mclusky)  
> https://youtu.be/6E9qQothFWo


	12. Precious laws of physics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back yeah! After a hectic January and a February of recovery, I found my passion for writing again and I finally present you the 12nd chapter. Thank you for staying with me.  
> Seriously, I hope all the misfortunes of this 2019 were concentrated on the sole month of January because if not... well... it's going to be quite the year for me.
> 
> Anyway, as always this chapter ended up longer than I thought. In fact, it was only going to be an introduction to the original 12nd chapter and I calculated it was going to be around 700 words. Nein, nein. 1600 beautiful words. So I decided to divide it.
> 
> It hasn't been proofread yet so if you spot any mistakes, tell me.

“Those star and stripes haters have put our blazing American fire out, Sir.” The BLU Soldier disclosed in an absolute serious tone. He sounded so convinced of himself that for a second, the other mercenaries almost believe him. Then, they remembered that this Soldier didn’t even know they were inside a videogame.

“We must take action before they esca...” He trailed off and started looking around nervously. He had just remembered that he had no idea where his rocket launcher had gotten to after his disastrous attack against the bicolour duo from the balcony.

It took him a couple of awkward seconds to spot it but instantly after, the young American made some silly little jumps to fetch his weapon from where it had landed and got into a formal military pose again.

“We must take action before they escape, Commander!” He finished off his previous sentence louder than usual, like if that could hide the ridiculous scene he had just performed.

Everyone expected the elder RED Soldier to dissuade him from his fantasy.

However, his reaction was completely the opposite one.

“Affirmative! It’s imperative we perform an immediate investigation, private!” The spuriously self-called Commander exclaimed, with even more enthusiasm than his counterpart.

When the two Soldiers adopted the same inverted-mirrored pose, shoulder to shoulder and rocket launcher ready to fire, it should have been hint enough for the mercenaries around them to take a step back.

But they didn’t.

When the two Soldiers’ faces perfectly complemented each other, brilliant excited eyes on the mature version and crazy thrilled smile in the gullible one, they really should have taken a step back.

But they didn’t.

Therefore, it was too late when both Americans turned to the side and grabbed the closest accidental mercenary at their reach. Without any of them being able to process it, a befuddled BLU Sniper was lifted up from his feet and placed like a bag of flour on the younger version’s shoulder, while the giant Russian was grabbed by the elbow by the RED veteran.

One second they were on the ground floor, a second later the four of them were at the balcony. The BLU Soldier bumbled a little on his landing but manage to regain balance before he could trip over. After a moment of auto-acknowledgement, the two Americans released their unwilling partners of rocket-jumping and smiled at each other in pride and satisfaction for their deed.

The rest of the assembled group of mercenaries stared at them in a mix of all the connotations the word “awe” could carry, trying to process what exactly had happened.

Why had the Commander played along with his counterpart delusional ideas? Why had they picked up another mercenary for the trip? And last, but not least, **how, for the precious laws of physics, had Heavy’s jumping trajectory keep up perfectly aligned to the Commander’s?**

Didn’t this universe know what a center of mass was? They shouldn’t even have been able to take off from the ground! A single rocket had propelled the combined weight of a Soldier and a Heavy more than one-storey up in the air!

Not wanting to process the previous traumatic event, the BLU Sniper’s gaze accidentally encountered his RED version and could only but to make a face of “I really need a stubby, mate.” In reply, the other marksman extended the arm where Sir Hootsalot was perked and mutely invited him to pet the bird. The older Australian languidly walked to his side and didn’t hesitate to follow his advice. He lacklusterly caressed the white owl, who gleefully hooted at the double attention it was receiving. After a couple of strokes, the BLU Sniper had to confess that the motion was quite soothing.

Albeit, he still wanted a beer, a big one, and perhaps, his own owl too now.

Partially recovered from the shock, Spy opened his mouth to make a witty comment about the whole situation but at spotting Heavy, who was still displaying a flabbergasted expression all over his face and body language, he decided to keep it to himself. The Frenchman was just relieved to not have been one of the victims. So many things could have gone wrong in that single fraction of a second.

“What are you waiting for? Bring the Doc up too, toymaker!” The BLU Soldier cheerfully encouraged the Solly-Engie.

The Texan needed a second to put together what the crazy American was exactly asking him to do. Then, he turned at Medic with a hesitant expression, to which the German retorted with a face of “Don’t you dare to touch me or my saw embedded into your ribcage will feel like a blessing compared to the rest I’ll do to you and your organs.”

At that intimidating face, Engie took a step back, displaying his heedfulness in the matter.

That reaction made Medic evaluate his situation.

He didn’t have to listen to any of them or do any of what he was told. There was no contract that bound them together and no legal obligations to be fulfilled from his side. As the team doctor he was supposed to be, all of these mercenaries might be subconsciously expecting from him to take care of their medical needs but Medic could give them the middle finger and despite their false beliefs, they would have had to resign to his decision.

The thought of walking away reminded him of the last time he had felt like that, when he had been healing the BLU Soldier. If he had done that, he wouldn’t have met the Solly-Engie and that meant, he would have missed the news about the Spawn rooms becoming a magical summoning place of whims and wishes.

As much as he would have like to lie to himself about discovering that fact by his own means, Medic had to admit that the most probable scenario would have resulted on him wondering around the map bored and frustrated while the rest of mercenaries were enjoying the best day of their life.

Therefore, despite irritating him to the core of his bones, the most sensible course of action was to stick together until the nature of their current predicament was resolved, or at least, partially.

The grumpy German exhaled and lifted his head at the BLU Soldier, who was still waiting for them with a naive smile.

If Medic was staying, he would stay under his own rules. His years of being a puppet without free will ended here.

“Pass me your rocket launcher, Soldier.” The doctor extended his hands, asking for the weapon.

A shy expression of reluctance spread across the young American and he immediately searched with his eyes for the Commander, relegating the ultimate decision. The RED Soldier chuckled at Medic’s bolt request but nodded at his counterpart, giving him his consent.

With almost no time to react, Medic dematerialised his crossbow to rapidly catch the rocket launcher the BLU threw at him with an uncaringly excessive force. Then, he proceeded to get into position and crouched his legs, readying himself for the launching.

Engie adopted an equivalent pose and eyed him with the intention of repeating a similar performance to the Soldier pair. However, at noticing the doctor’s frown and lasting grouchy mood, he opted for letting him go first.

While he waited, the Texan wondered if this Medic was on his mental breaking point already. He personally hadn’t had any Medic friends who had reached that limit but he certainly had heard about how, in general, medics became extremely bipolar before getting erased from the game. The BLU Engie didn’t want to give it much of a thought but it was hard to ignore the evidence displayed in front of him. This Medic had more or less the right age for his first major crisis and his behaviour seemed to fit into the common pattern. For example, just some moments ago, before the explosion, the German had seemed incredibly elated, which he evidently wasn’t anymore.

Mind-reading his owner’s intentions, Archimedes took flight just before his insane doctor decided to follow him. Medic catapulted himself into the air and despite the frenetic rocking of his legs, almost panicking-like; he made a firm and surprisingly perfect landing.

The newly increased group from the balcony gave him some raised eyebrows and approval faces and Heavy was actually close to clap at that feat. Although, being fair with the mountain of a man, the Russian was still out of countenance by his own unbelievable rocket-jump. For the fourth time, he cast a glance again to the ground below, confirming that yes, somehow he was safe and sound on the first floor now. 

“Quick-fix.” The German replied flatly, almost annoyed, at the attention, as if that was auto-explanatory, and tossed back the rocket launcher to his original owner.

It didn’t take long for the Solly-Engie to imitate his steps, or in this case, flying trajectory, only with the miniscule difference that he landed on the roof of the balcony. If that choice had been intentional or not, only the Texan knew it for sure.

It hadn’t.

“We are ready to march, men! And remember not to shoot unless you are shot first!” The Commander announced.

The BLU Soldier contained a pout at that order but followed the other man’s lead nonetheless.

As the mercenaries let some free space, Engie dropped from the roof and whispered at Spy.

“If I may ask... Why are y’all followin’ the orders of this old Soldier?”

“I never zhought I would say zhis, _labourer_ , but...” The Frenchman pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “He actually seems to know what he’s doing... Sometimes more zhan ozhers...”

As the snipers passed next to the stunned Heavy, they silently offered him to join them in the owl petting. He accepted.

Sir Hootsalot hooted again immensely pleased.


	13. Don’t forget to delete your internet history

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was coming back and I'm keeping that promise.
> 
> Enjoooy!
> 
> (Hidden references to other franchises in the chapter xD)

“Welcome to the end of the world, boys!” The insane Engineer greeted the newcomer mercenaries eerily cheerful.

With Commander as the head of the beeline, the squad stepped into the soaked room and grew considerably wary as they took in their new surroundings. Their gazes systematically jumped from the lunatic Texan and his striking contraptions, to the clearly aching RED Engie and RED Pyro, to the four decrepit walls, dripping ceiling and puddly floor and finalized on the levitating cigar of the demented cyborg.

The wet room was expected. The rest, it wasn’t, in particular, that additional violation of gravity. It almost felt like a mocking reminder of what the two Soldiers had pulled off some minutes ago. But there was no way that instable metal-man knew, wasn’t there?

During the same span of time, the gentle Engie invested a good analytical second to examine his BLU counterpart, who, for some reason that escaped his comprehension, was dressed up like a Soldier and was carrying a rocket launcher too. However, as the unmasked Spy moved from behind the Heavy, the focus of this cowboy’s fixation drastically shifted to the latest most impacting oddity.

If a distinctly psychotic and heavily armed Engineer hadn’t resulted to be their welcoming party, the Frenchman might have teased the young shocked Texan but he decided to keep a serious countenance and focus on the hazard in front of them. The RED Sniper emulated him but couldn’t contain the corner of his lips from curling up. At last! The poor sharpshooter had been awaiting this kind of reaction all along. The “out-of-the-loop” club had now officially three members. Perhaps four, if the Pyro was also in.

In reply to the grim omen that had been proclaimed, the BLU Soldier declared with his comical assertiveness.

“Not if we can stop it! We will end the end of the world! We will guard against harm our beloved America!”

“Yes. Yes, we will.” His RED version repeated in a warning tone, looking straight at the maniacal Texan.

It was evident that this man was looking for a fight and the Commander was determined to prevent him from finding it. Long ago, he had sworn to devote himself to the well-being of all the digital mercenaries of this game and that promise was, now, more relevant than ever.

The crazy Engineer let out one of his disturbing snickers and to the other RED tinkerer’s surprise, he stepped out of the Spawn’s room. As the canons of his turtle shell shrank into their metal core and his floating cigar followed his movements, he stood up in front of the RED veteran with a haughty pose and blew some smoke upon his persona.

The Commander took the provocation stoically, keeping his eyes locked into the disrespectful bastard without blinking or coughing. The canon part of his personality desired only but to snap the neck of that insolent asshole but as much as the man he had grown to become would have liked to comply, he kept himself immobile.

However, the BLU Soldier didn’t take with such gentility the insult towards his superior.

How dared this contemptible dwarf to disrespect his unit’s leader?!

He huffed harshly, decided to beat down to human pulp this conceited Engineer, when his elder counterpart softly set a hand over his chest, requesting him to stand down. 

If the Commander hadn’t won the reverence of the other men before, he definitely did at that moment.

The kind Engie blinked astonished. He had never seen a Soldier behave like that. Although, all told, he hadn’t engaged in conversation with many Soldiers before so maybe this was more normal than he thought. Hating himself from using the knowledge his nuts doppelganger had shared with him, he accessed the RED American’s digital profile and his mouth gasped open at discovering his age. He was almost two decades old! How was that even possible? Wasn’t the game only a decade old?

When the smoke completely dissipated, the deranged Texan smiled broadly. No one was able to tell if it was due to authentic happiness or insolence.

“When ya went silent three years ago, everybody thought you got erased. I’m glad to see ya didn’t go doolally like the Original, Screamin’ Eagle.”

The senior American slightly frowned at the use of that ancient alias and everyone in the room got the impression that nickname meant something more than just a random mockery.

“Don’t tell me ya know each other?” The BLU Sniper inquired, folding his arms in such an indifferent manner that made his question sound perfectly disinterested.

“Not exactly.” The mad cyborg concluded the staring contest and strolled to the sharpshooter’s position with the intention of making him feel uncomfortable for asking. “Let’s just say we were famous within the same community, Lawrence.”

The irritating Engineer smiled slyly as everyone reacted with different degrees of frowns to the revelation of the BLU Sniper’s name. While it should have been the other way around, the BLU kept an absolute unreadable expression while his younger RED version was the one to frown the deepest.

The RED Australian wasn’t exactly sure which his real name was. Dick? Mick? His implanted memories were fuzzy regarding that point but he surely wasn’t called Lawrence. Independently of how that wacky Engie had gotten that information, he was wrong.

“That ain’t his name or mine.” He came to his defence.

The lunatic Texan immediately snickered and the BLU Sniper sent his doppelganger a look of “ya shouldn’t have said anythin’, mate.” The RED replied with a confused face of “Why?”

“True. Seein’ how he doesn’t get out of YouTube, maybe he prefers to be called ProfessionalHeadshots70?” At hearing that, the insulted marksman’s eyes became immediately filled with murderous intent.

Now, the RED understood. Well, not completely. What did his own tube have to do with his counterpart or anything that was going on? Which tube were they talking about? Or was YouTube a place? Like a pub or a secret club? His confused face didn’t allay.

Getting ready to brawl this disdainful Engineer to death, the BLU literally growled at him.

“How d’ya-”

“How I know?” He turned around, giving his back to the group in a perfect fake opportunity of vulnerability, and proclaimed at the ceiling with a hysterical tone. “I’m a god! I’m omnipotent and omniscient!”

Blinded by his anger, the offended Sniper took a step towards his new target but Spy placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, advising him to not fall into his provocation.

The Frenchman could see through this psycho’s intentions. This man was craving for a handcrafted slaughter more ardently than the master of espionage had ever thought it was humanly possible but at the same time, he was also smart enough to not be the one to throw the first punch. It was clear that this atypical Engineer was looking for a plausible excuse, even if it was, at its best, utterly feeble. They were all trapped in this map for who knows how long and if he marked himself as an irrational threat that killed everyone in the server indiscriminately, it wouldn’t matter how many weapons or stats could he come up with, the rest of the mercenaries will team up and eventually take him down or restrain him. On the other hand, if he made himself pass for a plain asshole, everyone would avoid him after the first incident was settled and he would be able to spend the rest of his free time doing other activities of his choice. With Respawn on and the numbers not in his favour, this insane Engineer was playing the strategy with the minimal repercussions for him and his murderous appetite.

This deduction made Spy reconsider how insane was really this genius and how much was he pretending to be for the sake of the appearances.

“You simply hacked us.” Heavy exposed his bullshit in a flat tone, tired of the maniacal show they were all putting up with, either due to cowardice, prudence or indifference.

A silent moment of confusion or revelation, depending on the mercenary, went by and after casually spinning around on his heels; their erratic host chose to not directly refute the statement.

“Could be, could be...” He said, caressing his chin like if he was truly evaluating his words as a possibility.

Then, he strangely spaced out in an extremely resembling way to how they had witnessed the Commander disconnect several times before and he stayed like that for an uncomfortable couple of long seconds.

The mercenaries looked at each other hesitant, internally debating if they should attempt to overrun this mad man before his attention returned to the present. Unfortunately, they couldn’t reach any decision because when they were starting to believe that the barefaced Texan had turned into a human statue, he suddenly planted himself in front of the Russian, in an agile and fast motion that remind them of the attacking strike of a vicious cobra.

Alarmed by that menacing action, the entire row of men instantly got on guard with some of them summoning their melee weapons.

That had been unusually fast for an Engineer.

Moreover, their surprise significantly grew as they noticed that the Texan had apparently shot up because he was standing almost at Heavy’s eye level. It was needed an additional second to realise that he was levitating one foot above the ground as if an invisible pedestal was sustaining him.

How was he doing that? And how much more could he do that they didn’t know about?!

Making use of his recently discovered digital clairvoyance, the gentle Engie tried to examine the legs of his nuts counterpart but no explanation or useful information came out of it. Following next and being more logical about his search, he opted to focus on the gadgets the other had created during his stopover at the Spawn room.

The info tap about the black glove immediately took him aback. The list of features was seemingly endless. The aspects were already unsettling individually but grouped all together, they felt damn terrifying.

Just to pick up some examples that single piece of clothing was alleged to confer him with 100% resistance to all types of damages, 100x health, 10x speed, 10x strength, 10x endurance, critical hits at command, teleportation, automatic guided aim... WAIT! HE COULD LITERALLY MANIPULATE TIME!? For real!? And what did in tarnation mean ‘Avatar bending powers’?! Holy Moly! If half of that list, no, if one-tenth of that list was true, that insane Engineer could literally erase half of the universe with the snap of his fingers.

He _really_ hadn’t been joking when he had said he was a god.

The poor aghast cowboy stood there petrified, not knowing how to communicate his findings to the rest of the mercenaries without raising suspicion. He wasn’t sure if he should.

The mountain of a man plainly ignored the volatile Texan, resolved to deny him the recognition he craved, but after what they had witnessed, the majority of the other men became incapable of concealing their general edginess.

“Don’t worry, _pardners._ If I wanted y’all dead, y’all would be dead.” He chuckled with disturbing psychopathy.

It didn’t ease their minds at all knowing that he was _probably_ telling the truth.

The polite Texan shivered, aware better than anyone of what that lunatic was supposedly capable.

“Permission requested to cut open this traitor and strangle him with his own guts and my very American hands.” The BLU Soldier muttered between his teeth to his commanding officer.

For a delightful second, his elder RED version yearningly imagined the described scene as himself as the protagonist but in the end, he picked the sensible choice.

“Permission denied.”

Returning to the scholarly giant who was unemotionally glaring at him two palms away from his face, the eerie cyborg made a determination to gain his whole attention.

“Ya obviously didn’t come up with your shitty firewall but I gotta give ya some credit for the rest, Ivan Medvedev.” He said murdering his name in a mocking Russian accent and a terrible pronunciation. “I promise I did my best to pronounce your last name the worst I could.” He chuckled. “Mmm... Trilingual Heavy, hell of a writer, friend of the flesh and bone but also of the digital kin.” He made a pause. “I dunno if it’s cute or pathetic that the worst thin’ I can find about ya is that very long Word with 114 different recipes for makin’ a sandwich. ‘Wordly Sandviches’, ya named it. Amazin’ use of yer fake PhD in Russian literature. I’m impressed.”

Heavy yawned at him, disinterested. After learning about the dark side of the internet and the gratuitous hatred that brewed on it, this was just another little heinous man in search of some pitiful pleasure on being hurtful to others. Besides, the Russian had infinite patience. This broken Engineer would have to try harder if he really wanted to push his buttons. Two don’t fight if one doesn’t want to.

Acknowledging his ‘appreciated’ feedback, the vexatious cyborg opted for changing strategy.

He smiled sinisterly again and spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

“But I do need no hackin’ skills when yer eyes scream the names of the friends ya lost.” The Russian’s eyebrows ineluctably shot up and a pang of buried grief instantly seized his chest. “So tell me...”

The pernicious Texan abruptly shut up.

For a moment, everyone thought that the giant had punched him at super-speed and they all, for some reason, had missed it, even Ivan questioned himself, but the truth was that the cause of his pause was internal, rather than external.

_“So yer humor has limits after all.”_ Dell’s voice commented sarcastically.

_“Ya shoulda know, by now, that I only mock the livin’. The dead can’t get offended.”_

_“Yeah... And obviously, it has nothin’ to do with ya realizin’ that if somebody made a joke about Mark, like the one ya were gonna make about this Heavy’s lost friend, ya’d have made that person beg for years the sweet relief of death?”_

_“As ya said, that’s obviously not the reason.”_

_“It’s good to know that ya still are a Southern Gentleman.”_ He chuckled.

_“Fuck you.”_

 

He would need a really good laugh to get over the reminder of what had happened to Mark.

 

As unexpectedly as he had fallen silent, the unhinged Engineer suddenly twisted his head and fixed his gaze on the BLU Spy. “Why yer obsession with Australia, _croissant_?” He asked with a demented grin from ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Writer me crying in a corner*  
> *Logical me* Hey, hey. Why are you crying? Tell me, what's wrong?  
> *Writer me* I've been mentally writing this chapter in my head for a month and now that it's written out it feels totally different.  
> *Logical me* Well, that doesn't need to be necessarily a bad thing.
> 
> *Writer me* It's bad, very bad. The introduction of this chapter already became a chapter by itself and now, I'm felt forced to separate the core of the chapter in two because it was getting so freaking long that it would have surpassed 5000 words. Moreover, this chapter was conceived around the insane Engineer's monologue and I completely forgot about all the other characters in the room. HOW I FORGOT ABOUT THE OTHER 10 CHARACTERS IN THE ROOM?! 
> 
> *Logical me* But you fix it, didn't you? You added the point of view of other characters to justify their behaviour.  
> *Writer me* Yeah, but the chapter still doesn't feel as good as it should.  
> *Writer me keeps crying as logical me pats her back*


	14. Who we have become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Writer me* If this chapter wants to become four, so be it!  
> *Practical me* Yeah, that's the spirit! ... Wait, what?! D:

_“Why your obsession with Australia?”_

That simple question froze the entirety of Spy’s blood in a fraction of a second.

The rogue had hoped, seemingly in vain, that if he kept his mouth shut and didn’t defy the embittered Texan, he would have overlooked him. That had been evidently not the case.

_“ <Oh, no! Oh, no! No, no, no! __No! No, no, no! NO, NO, NO!_ _HE KNOWS! HE KNOWS EVERYTHING! HE KNOWS MY ENTIRE GOOGLE SEARCH HISTORY! >” _The internal voice of the currently non-collected Frenchman panicked inside his mind with a level of hysteria equivalent to encountering the four horsemen of the apocalypse having a picnic in the backyard of his house. And from his point of view, that may very well have been less catastrophic.

Fortunately for him, by the virtue of the implanted memories he had as a trained secret agent, his body showed no reaction to the provocation.

“This Heavy didn’t have any embarrassin’ material… But ya… Ya’re a damn golden Australium mine!” The crazy cyborg jumped down from his invisible platform and idly got close to the new victim of his humiliation.

In his personal experience, Spies were always one of the funniest classes to toy with because, despite looking overall unaffected, he could always spot those tiny tics or micro-expressions that betrayed how they really felt inside. In addition, if he managed to crack them, they usually lose their shit more aggressively than any frenzied Scout. It was fun to watch.

“I’ve hacked many other mercenaries before but ya, ya…” The others couldn’t decide if he had just snorted or snickered. “Ya surely are the fuckin’ winner!” He let out a shiver-inducing laugh, as Spy’s full mental capacity began scheming how to discredit all the true facts that were about to be brought to light. He wasn’t ready to share with anybody his change of mindset. One thing willingly chose to slightly modify the pre-established image of the canon Spy and another, was to have someone else absolutely obliterate your personal reputation without any qualms about the struggling human being behind that façade.

“Comin’ from a Sniper, it’d have been acceptable. But from a Spy? It’s a pity there ain’t any of your class around. I’d have paid to see how he looked at ya.”

The Frenchman was getting anxious about how much he was delaying the inevitable. He was clearly building up for the incoming revelations and trying to push him into betraying himself. He could assert that this labourer was undoubtedly experienced in the game of taunting. Right now, any moves or attempts from his side were highly unadvisable.

“I love how ya started with ‘10 reasons to hate Australia’ and two years later, you ended up havin’ spent more than four hundred hours on the Google street view of its cities, subscribed to the Sydney Opera House’s newsletter and watchin’ tutorials about Australian contemporary cuisine. For God’s sake… Almost all the pages ya’ve visited durin’ the last month are about that fuckin’ country.”

The moment those words were released into the air, all the eyes in the room laid on Spy.

He could feel how they were judging him.

During the past months, Spy had progressively made peace with his contradictory feelings and even started candidly pursuing some of his newly developed interests but he hadn’t openly talked about it with anyone. In fact, without counting small talk with random mercenaries, he hadn’t really spoken with anyone since... the beginning of his existence? There was no real reason why he couldn’t just come clean in front of these men and admit his new hobby. Only that tremendous shame, auto-imposed by the ghost of a man he was no more, was holding him back. It made no sense, he knew it. There was no bloodcurdling Administrator, no past employers he had double-crossed, no criminal organizations or federal governments after his head. He was just a character from a franchise. His paranoia, secrecy and aloofness were completely unjustified but that didn’t change how he felt or the most basic instincts deep-seated in the heart of his programmed personality.

_Putain!_ He should have cloaked the moment the bushman’s YouTube account had been brought up. Why had he stayed? These people weren’t his friends, not even his real teammates!

The RED Sniper cocked a curious eyebrow at what it had been said. He couldn’t entirely follow the conversation but he could catch enough of it to understand that this Spy, somehow, had been researching thoroughly and perhaps, even passionately, about his home country. Was this the reason why he had previously talked with an Australian accent? Or was the other way around?

_"What would be next? A Spy with an Australian accent? A Soldier with an IQ higher than an average chimpanzee?"_

In other circumstances, Medic would have let out a short laugh at rediscovering that his delusional moribund mind had hit the nail on the head closer that he would have ever imagined. However, right now, he only allowed himself a silent smug smile. He would seize the opportunity while everyone was distracted. To all intents and purposes, he had followed this group with a very defined goal and nobody else aside from him mattered when it came to achieving his ambitions.

With an unnatural calmness, Spy dropped his cigarette to the floor, crushed it with the sole of his shoe and lighted a new one like if those words had nothing to do with him. Yet, he couldn’t control a brief flinch on his arm at the thought of reaching for his Invis watch.

The Commander stepped forwards. The situation was getting out of hand. These men didn’t deserve to have their private lives exposed for the amusement of this psychopath. As much as he was trying to come up with a plan for putting this Engineer in his place, he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t result in total chaos and violence. Simply walking out of the room wouldn’t end well. His binary intuition was sure of that.

In moments like these, the elder Soldier wished he could possess the silver tongue of a Spy to turn the topic around or the calculating intelligence of an Engineer to develop an apparently magical solution. For his beloved lady Liberty, he would have been content with just being able to properly read again!

Notwithstanding, the worst of all was knowing that this was entirely his fault. Believing that this tinkerer was friendly for putting out the fire, he had blindly walked these men into this mess.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

It infuriated him to feel so powerless but he knew better than letting himself be driven by his fury. If there had to be a martyr, he was volunteering.

When the noxious cyborg seemed like he was going to open his mouth again, the RED veteran cut him short.

“I think is enough, private!” He commanded firmly. He intentionally let some indignation leak through his tone in hopes of becoming the new center of attention.

That title didn’t last long.

“Yeah, mate! Wot if he’s interested in my country? It’s a bloody gorgeous country!” The BLU marksman also spat back, still visibly sparked off from the previous meddlesomeness on his cybernetic life. “Wot’s wrong with that? Wot’s wrong with ya, cactus-eatin' buckethead? Are ya so fuckin’ rotten inside that ya need this show to feel alive? Fight us already or get the fuck outta here before Oi skin ya alive like the bloody feral donkey ya are!” He finished off wielding his Shahanshah to the air and Sir Hootsalot hooted aggressively, supporting him.

Before he could realise, Spy found himself gawking at his Australian teammate with a total astonished face in display. He would have never imagined a bushman standing up like that for anyone and let alone for a total stranger. For him, a Spy! That reaction couldn’t be exclusively fuelled by the divulgement of his YouTube nickname or the affront to his country. This had to be deeply personal in a level the Frenchman couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Was this Sniper also hiding something that this situation made him relate to?

The RED American could foresee the blood being spilled. One more harmful sentence masterfully selected by this lunatic and hell would break loose in this room. The veteran looked down at the floor, ashamed. There was nothing he could do now. He had failed these men and his mission to protect them.

Suddenly, they heard behind their backs a quick succession of noises that they were quite familiarised with. The Spawn’s roller shutter going up, the sound of a head impacting against a glass but not breaking it, a body hitting the wooden floor and a considerably long curse in German.

“ _Du spinnst wohl,_ _Wilde Tier Schwarze Affee Arschloch_?!”*

Well, that last part was a novelty. Their ears weren’t accustomed to hearing that kind of ‘high’ vocabulary coming from Medics very often.

For a second, genuine surprise and a tiny bit of panic were featured on the demented Texan’s face. But then, he looked over his shoulder and found the doctor laying incredibly enraged in front of the open Spawn room. In response, an explosive loud laugh spontaneously slithered out of his throat.

THIS MEDIC WAS SO DAMN STUPID! HA, HA, HA!

Everyone looked at each other visibly confused about what exactly had happened to the German, just to realize immediately after, of how, without anyone paying attention, he must have had sneaked out from his original position and walked all the way behind the Soldiers up to the Spawn room.

Truth be told, Pyro had noticed but they had said nothing. They were no snitch.

Once he calmed himself down, the crazy Engineer pivoted towards the youngest of his doppelgangers, the other RED tinkerer, and said with an overweening tone.

“Check, boy! Another idiot who didn’t examine info taps before interactin’.”

What had this madman done?

“You sealed zhe Spawn room, _der drecksack_!” Medic exclaimed as he stood up to his feet, using the aforementioned invisible barrier as support.

“Of course I sealed it. Do I look stupid to ya? I know how to cover my back.” He snickered but then, out of the blue, his voice took an earnest tone. “It’s a shame, doc.” He sighed, almost sounding disappointed. “I thought ya and I’d be able to understand each other. After all, ya’re just one bad day away from becomin’ me and two, from gettin’ erased.”

The implications of what those words carried sank the atmosphere of the room even lower that it had been before. This wasn’t just an insane mercenary who had lost his mind. This was an insane mercenary who was very aware of how close he was to disappear from existence and had embraced his faith to the point of being able to voice it out so casually.

He had turned his primordial weakness into a weapon with which to strike fear into the heart of others.

Medic glared back at him, searching for an appropriate comeback. It was humiliating to have been outsmarted so effortlessly, namely when he could have easily prevented putting himself on the hotspot just by digitally examining his surroundings like suggested. He had been too impulsive.

His narcissist pride wanted only but to rebut the allegation of this aberration of Engineer, to tell him that he wasn’t getting erased any time soon. But that would have been a plain lie for which he would have gotten nothing positive out of it.

It was rough to admit it, even to himself, but the truth was that the thought of ceasing to exist had crossed his mind more than once and each time, it had felt more appealing than the previous occasion. For a couple of years, the dazzling opportunities that the internet had bestowed him had kept him absorbed and his passion more invigorated than ever. Medic had been able to access, with incredibly user-friendliness and free of charge, an enormous number of scientific articles from all types of fields and journals. He had signed up and completed several MOOCs to get a sturdy grasp on computational biology to critically analyze the raw data available in the net. He even had putatively discovered a dozen of new genes and made an actual research group retract his conclusions after obliterating his published article.

For a while, the technology of the 21st century and all its medical achievements had been amazingly riveting. He might not have had an identity out there, in that other universe, but he had benefited from its fruits and participated in scientific forums with equal enthusiasm. However, when bioinformatics, the only science he could exercise on his condition, had turned out to be incredibly unsatisfying, his mood had begun slowly descending onto a dark path from which there was no apparent recovery.

The three-dimensional modelling of a protein couldn’t be compared, at the slightest, to the feeling of putting to test, with his own hands and scarce resources, the latest and most cutting-edge of his ideas on his human specimens.

_*Cough, Cough*_ He meant teammates. Yes, teammates. That was the word.

He, who had the memories of a man who had created gods, cheated death and brought a bunch of mercenaries back to life, had been confined to the insignificant experimentation _in silico_ and the world of ‘putatives’ and ‘needs verification in animal model’. All of that, while his body was being used for worthless healing and pointless battles in behalf of 7-year-old kids who didn’t even know how to walk around the map without bumping against every corner they found.

It was depressing, to say the least.

As the sinister grin of the insane Engineer fed on Medic’s oozing anger, the German realized something ludicrous. There was no reason why he couldn’t turn his murderous instincts into real actions. In fact, he had also been craving for a bloodbath. Why don’t try his luck against this self-proclaimed god? Why don’t give this lunatic the excuse he had been looking for all along?

Nobody was going to blame him once they respawned. It was well-known that Medics, in general, were quite mentally unstable and if they say something, he would simply shrug any complains or accusations. Nor that he cared what they might think of him. He had never cared. In addition, being killed was objectively the quickest way to get into another Spawn room, especially in the case that this psychopath had gone to the extent of sealing them all.

As this decision gained strength inside his mind, the German’s body language progressively evolved into his spine-chilling blood-trusty stance.

Honestly, Medic didn’t know how these mercenaries expected this situation to end. Had any of them checked the aspects of the weapons this cracked Texan carried? He truly had the upper hand here. There was no way they could defeat him in a fight, fair or dirty, without resupplying on a Spawn room first. Round 1 was already lost and by his impression, the German seemed to be the only one aware of this inevitable destiny.

That thought reminded him of an old idiom.

_“If you cannot beat them, join them.”_

Mmm... Perhaps, allying himself with the bigger fish was a better idea than collective assisted suicide.

With total bewilderment from his soon-to-be-sold-out teammates, the mad doctor matched the crazy Engineer’s grin and held his gaze with determination.

Besides, this wouldn’t be the first time he had switched sides to suit his own agenda. He could be considered an expert on it.

Just before Medic could expound his devious deal, a considerably big notification popped up in the middle of his visual field.

“Francis Rocket/BLU Engineer wants to share a firewall with you.

[Accept]                    [Decline]”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *“You must be kidding me, wild animal black monkey asshole?!”
> 
> I found this insult through Google and I kind of have the impression that it's a racist insult so if there's any German speaker around here, I would appreciate their input.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments or constructive criticism are welcome. As a writer, your feedback keeps me motivated and helps me continue this story. ^^


End file.
